
Class JRS-£±S_ 
Book. .~R 4-^)7 



THE 



RHODE-ISLAND BOOK : 



SELECTIONS IN PROSE AND VERSE, 



FROM THE WRITINGS OF 



*J&obe = 9JgIant! Cittjett^. 



BY ANNE C. LYNCH 
Bctta 
\ — 



PROVIDENCE : 

H. FULLER, 40 WESTMINSTER-STREET. 

BOSTON : WEEKS, JORDAN & CO. 

1841 . 






lo 



KNOWLES L VOSE, PRINTERS. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Introduction to Whatckeer, .... Durfee. 

Letter to the General Assembly, . . . Williams. 

Concerning Sleep and Lodging of the Indians, Williams. 

Roger Williams, Miss Whipple. 

To the Weathercock on our Steeple, . . Greene. 

The Poet, Mrs. Little. 

Variety of Opinions on Religion, . . . Berkeley. 

On the Prospect of Planting Arts and Learning in 



America, ..... 

The Trailing Arbutus, . 
The Language of a Future State, . 

The Living-Dead, 

The Anniversary of American Independence, 
Our Country, ..... 

German Literature, ..... 
Suggested by Allston's Picture of Jeremiah 

and Baruch in the Prison, 
Moral Sublimity Illustrated, 
The Baron's last Banquet, 
A Visit to Niagara, 
Martrydom of St. Peter and St. Paul, 
On the value of Liberal Studies, 
Dress, ...... 

The Existence of God, 

To the Autumn Forest, 

Centennial Discourse, 

To a Smiling Infant, 

The Churches of New-England, 

Man was not Made to Mourn, 

Plan for a National University, 



Mrs 



Berkeley. 

Whitman. 

Hazard. 

Hoppin. 

Russell. 

Pabodie. 

Mrs. Whitman. 

. Miss Jacobs. 

. Wayland. 

. Greene. 

Farley. 

Burgess. 

Goddard. 

. Mrs. Burges. 

Maxcy. 

Pabodie. 

Pitman. 

. • Peckham. 

Stiles. 

Hartshorn. 

Robbins. 



1 
5 

18 
20 
21 
24 
29 

32 
34 
36 
41 

44 
48 
50 

58 

61 

66 

69 

80 

83 

90 

94 

96 

98 

104 

106 

108 

109 



IV TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

Old Grimes, Greene. 116 

On Novel Writing, Mrs. Curtis. 118 

Prize Poem, Mrs. Whitman. 126 

Impossibility of Atheism, Brooks. 130 

Paul Preaching at Athens, .... Miss Lynch. 134 

On the Removal of the Remains of Washington, Bwges. 136 

A Day of the Indian Summer, . . Mrs. Whitman. 141 
The Present Intellectual and Political Condition 

of Europe, Wayland. 145 

" Where is thy Brother ?" .... Miss Jacobs. 154 

The American Revolution, .... Robbins. 159 

A Fragment Burrill. 164 

Connexion between Love, Poetry, Music and 

Devotion, Hazard. 165 

Stanzas, Greene. 177 

Rhode-Island during the Revolution, . . . Hunter. 179 

The Battle of Bennington, .... Rodman. 193 

The Effects of Sin, Vinton. 198 

Ode to the Poppy, .... Miss Taggart. 200 

Thoughts on Education, Allen. 203 

Pettiquamscott, . . . . . Miss Robinson. 211 

The Cultivation of Taste, Hague. 212 

Charlie Machree, Hoppin. 226 

Old Age, Hall. 229 

An Excursion down Narraganset Bay, . Knowles. 236 

Genius Born ; not Made, Dorr. 239 

Time, ........ Hartshorn. 255 

A Defence of Poetry, . . . . Channing. 259 

A Fragment, Brooks. 265 

Trenton Falls, ....... Stevens. 267 

The Living Dead, Pabodie. 272 

Henry Clay, in the Senate, .... Whipple. 275 
A September Evening on the Banks of the 

Moshassuck, Mrs. Whitman. 278 

Last Night of the Year, Hall. 280 

To Switzerland, Stevens. 286 

Relations which this Country sustains to the 

Nations of Europe, Wayland. 289 

The Fancy Ball, ...... Anthony. 296 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Philip of Pokanoket, . 

Elegy, 

Go Forth into the Fields, . 

Liberty's Trees, .... 

Perry, on Lake Erie, 

The Dwarf's Story, 

Extract from a Poem, 

Song of the Windmill Spirits, 

Sonnet Illustrating a Picture, 

Faded Flowers, .... 

The Forsaken Wife, . 

Sonnet, . 

To the Trailing Arbutus, 

On seeing a Grave without a Stone, 

Stanzas, 

A November Landscape, 



Spring, 

The Death-Bed of Beauty, 

Lines, 



. Man. 

. Miss Lynch. 

Pabodie. 

Tillinghast. 

Surges. 

Miss Whipple. 

Jenckes. 

. Greene. 

J. Hoppin. 

Mrs. Whitman. 

Patten. 

. Hoppin. 

. Peckham. 

Allen. 

Arnold. 

Mrs. Whitman. 



(From the German.) Whitnker. 
Rockwell. 
Mrs. Phillips. 



302 
308 
310 
312 
314 
322 
331 
333 
339 
340 
341 
342 
343 
344 
344 
345 
346 
347 
348 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Allen, Z. 


. 203 


Little, Mrs. 


Allen, P. 


344 


Lynch, Miss 


Anthony, 


. 297 


Maxcy, 


Arnold, 


344 


Man, 


Berkeley, 


. 29, 32 


Pabodie, . 48, 


Burgess, G. 


80 


Pitman, 


Burges, T. 


. 136, 314 


Patten, 


Burrill, 


164 


Peckham, 


Burges, Mrs. 


. 90 


Phillips, Mrs. * . 


Brooks, 


130, 265 


Rockwell, 


Curtis, Mrs. 


. 118 


Russell, 


Ch aiming, 


259 


Robbins, 


Durfee, 


1 


Rodman, 


Dorr, 


239 


Robinson, Miss 


Farley, 


. 69 


Stiles, 


Greene, 21, 66, 


Stevens, 


Goddard, 


. 83 


Taggart, Miss 


Hazard, 


36, 165 


Tillinghast, 


Hoppin, W. J. 


41, 226, 342 


Vinton, 


Hoppin, J. 


339 


Williams, 


Hartshorn, 


. 108, 255 


Whipple, Miss 


Hunter, 


179 


Whitman, Mrs. 


Hague, 


. 212 


141,! 


Hall, . m . 


229, 280 


Whipple, 


Jacobs, Miss 


. 58, 154 


Way land, 


Jenckes, 


331 


Whitaker, . 


Knowles s 


. 236 





24 

. 134, 308 

94 

. 302 

96, 272, 310 

. 98 

341 

. 104, 343 

348 

. 347 

44 

. 109, 159 

193 

. 11 

ins 

. 267, 236 

200 

. 312 

198 

5, 18 

20, 322 

34, 50, 126, 

278, 340, 345 

275 

61, 145, 289 

346 



PREFACE. 



Mr. Hunter has well remarked, in his eloquent Oration, that 
" the feeling which in the individual is selfish vanity, diffused and 
generalised by a community, becomes patriotism," and that " the 
people of Rhode-Island have a peculiar right to indulge in a State 
pride." This right will be admitted when it is remembered that 
in the history of the race, Rhode-Island presents the first instance 
of a State founded on the broad principles of spiritual freedom, 
without which, political freedom is but a mockery. Athens was a 
Democracy when Socrates drank the hemlock, and Rome had 
scarcely relinquished her title of The Republic, when in one of her 
provinces, the populace shouted " Crucify him / crucify him .'" 

Neither Greece, Rome, nor the nations of modern Europe had 
grasped the sublime idea of intellectual liberty, and the glory of 
founding the first State on this principle remained for an obscure 
exile on the shores of Narraganset Bay. An eloquent historian 
has said, " If Copernicus is held in perpetual reverence because, on 
his death-bed, he published to the world that the sun is the centre 
of our system, if the genius of Newton has been almost adored for 
dissecting a ray of light and weighing heavenly bodies as in a bal- 
ance, let there be for the name of Roger Williams at least, some 
humble place among those who have advanced moral science, and 
made themselves benefactors of mankind." 



Vlll PREFACE. 

But if we reverence the names of those who have read for us the 
mysteries of the visible heavens, shall we not reverence more, him 
who would unbind the fetters that for centuries have cramped the 
human mind, and shackled the conscience, that connecting link 
between God and man, and open for us the avenues to the very- 
Heaven of heavens ? We say, then, let there be for the name of 
Roger Williams an exalted place, — an illuminated page in the his- 
tory of Humanity. 

Rhode-Island has proved herself worthy of her illustrious founder. 
In the revolutionary struggle, she was first in the field — and re- 
nounced her allegiance, to Great-Britain two months before the De- 
claration of Independence by Congress. The idea of a navy was 
first suggested in her General Assembly ; she furnished two of 
of the four ships that composed the first American fleet, — many of 
the officers, and the first and only Admiral. And we need not say 
how the gallant Perry and his brave Newport followers, sustained 
on Lake Erie, the honor of that which their fathers had so well 
begun. 

It was thought that the floating literature of Rhode-Island con- 
tained much that was worthy of preservation ; and to give to such 
passages a " local habitation," has been the object of this publica- 
tion. From circumstances that could not be controlled, many 
distinguished names have been omitted ; and it is believed that 
another year, a similar and equally interesting collection might be 
prepared. To the citizens of Rhode-Island this volume is re- 
spectfully DEDICATED, BY THE 

EDITOR. 

Providence, Dec. 1, 1840. 



THE RHODE-ISLAND BOOK. 



INTRODUCTION TO WHAT CHEER 
A POEM. 

BY THE HON. JOB DURFEE. 
(Addressed to the Rev. Romeo Elton.) 

What time, dear Elton, we were wont to rove, 
From classic Brown along fair Seekonk's vale, 

And in the murmurs of his storied cove, 

Hear barbarous voices still our Founder hail ; 

E'en then my bosom with young rapture strove 
To give to deathless verse the exile's tale, 

And every ripple's moan, or breeze's sigh, 

Brought back whole centuries as it murmured by. 

But soon the brittle dream of youth was gone, 
And different labors to our lots were given : 

You, at the shrine of peace and glory shone ; 

Sublime your toils, for still your theme was heaven- 
% 



£ INTRODUCTION TO WHATCHEER. 

I, upon life's tempestuous billows thrown — 
A little bark before the tempest driven — 
Strove for a time the surging tide to breast, 
And up its rolling mountains sought for rest. 

Wearied, at length, with the unceasing strife, 

I gave my pinnace to the harbor's lee, 
And left that Ocean, still with tempests rife, 

To mad ambition's heartless rivalry ; 
No longer venturing for exalted life, 

(For storms and quicksands have no charms for me,) 
I, in the listless labors of the swain, 
Provoke no turmoil, and awake no pain. 

To drive the team afield, and guide the plough, 
Or lead the herds to graze the dewy mead, 

Wakes not the glance of lynx-eyed rival now, 
And makes no heart with disappointment bleed ; 

Once more I joy to see the rivers flow, 

The lambkins sport, and brindled oxen feed, 

And o'er the tranquil soul returns the dream, 

Which once she cherished by fair Seekonk's stream. 

And when stern winter breathes the chilling storm, 
And night comes down on earth in mantle hoar, 

I guide the herds and flocks to shelter warm,. 
And sate their hunger from the gathered store ; 

Then round the cottage hearth the circle form 
Of childhood lovelier than the vernal flower, 



3 



WHATCHEER. CANTO SIXTH. 

Partake its harmless glee and prattle gay, 
And soothe my soul to tune the artless lay. 

Thus were the numbers taught at first to flow, 
Scarce conscious that they bore a tale along — 

Beneath my hand still would the pages grow — 
They were not labor but the joy of song — 

Still every line would unsung beauties shew 
In Williams' soul, and still the stream prolong ; 

Till all enraptured with the theme sublime, 

My thoughts spontaneous sought the embodying rhyme. 



WHATCHEER. 

CANTO SIXTH. 

The winds of March o'er Narraganset's bay 

Move in their strength — the waves with foam are white, 
O'er Seekonk's tide the waving branches play, 

The woods roar o'er resounding plain and height ; 
'Twixt sailing clouds, the sun's inconstant ray 

But glances on the scene — then fades from sight ; 
The frequent showers dash from the passing clouds ; 
The hills are peeping through their wintry shrouds. 

Dissolving snows each downward channel fill, 
Each swollen brook a foaming torrent brawls, 

Old Seekonk murmurs, and from every hill, 
Answers aloud the coming waterfalls ; 



4 WHATCHEER. CANTO SIXTH. 

Deep-voiced Pawtucket thunders louder still ; 

To dark Mooshausick joyously he calls, 
Who breaks his bondage, and, through forests brown, 
Murmurs the hoarse response, and rolls his tribute down- 
But hark ! that sound, above the cataracts 

And hollow winds in this wild solitude 
Seems passing strange. Who, with the laboring axe, 

On Seekonk's eastern marge, invades the wood ; 
Stroke follows stroke — some sturdy hind attacks 

Yon ancient groves which from their birth have stood 
Unmoved by steel — and startled at the sound, 
The wild deer snuffs the gales — then with a bound 

Vaults o'er the thickets, and, down yonder glen, 
His antlers vanish — on yon shaggy height 

Sits the lone wolf, half peering from his den, 
And howls regardless of the morning light — 

Unwonted sounds and a strange denizen 

Vex his repose — then, cowering with affright 

He shrinks away — for with a crackling sound, 

Yon lofty hemlock bows, and thunders to the ground. 



LETTER FROM ROGER WILLIAMS, 

TO THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY OF RHODE-ISLAND, IN RELATION 
TO THE SERVICES OF DR. JOHN CLARKE. 



[The following characteristic specimen of the composition of 
Roger Williams, is now for the first time published. This fact it 
is presumed will give it an interest in addition to its historical value. 
The Editor is however aware, that at least a brief explanation of 
the circumstances under which it was written, may be required by 
those readers who are not familiar with the early history of Rhode 
Island. 

The first charter of the Colony, (the Earl of Warwick's Patent,) 
was granted in 1643. In 1651, William Coddington went to Eng- 
land, and obtained from the Council of State, a Commission, by 
which he was made Governor of the Island of Rhode-Island, Ca- 
nonicut, &c. for life. With this the people were much dissatisfied, 
and Williams and Clarke were immediately sent by the Colony to 
England, to procure its repeal, which they accomplished in 1652. 
Williams returned in 1654, and was in the same year elected Go- 
vernor. Clarke remained in England as the agent of the Colony, 
until 1663, when he obtained the Charter of Charles the Second. 

It appears from the letters of Williams, that during at least a 
part of the time while thus absent from home, he was obliged to 
provide for his own support. He says, in a letter to the town of 
Providence, written in 1664, " I was unfortunately fetched and 
drawn from my employment, and sent to so vast a distance from 

2* 



b LETTER TOT THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY 

my family, to do your work of a high and costly nature, for so many 
days and weeks and months together ; and there left to starve or 
steal, or beg, or borrow. But blessed be God, who gave me favor to 
borrow one while, and to work another, and thereby to pay your 
debts there, and to come over with your credit and honor, as an 
agent from you, who had in your name grappled with the agents and 
friends of all your enemies round about you." It farther appears, 
that he had recourse to teaching as a means of support ; and in con- 
nexion with this fact, a passage in one of his letters to John Win- 
throp, written soon after his return, is peculiarly interesting, on ac- 
count of the proof which it furnishes of his personal acquaintance 
with his great contemporary, Milton. He says : " It pleased the 
Lord to call me for some time, and with some persons, to practise 
the Hebrew, the Greek, Latin, French, and Dutch. The Secretary 
of the Council, (Mr. Milton) for my Dutch I read him, read me 
many more languages.'" 

Clarke was absent, in the service of the Colony, twelve years. In 
1664, his accounts were audited by the General Assembly, and the 
sum of £343, 15s. 6d. was found due him, which the Assembly often 
urged the towns to pay ; but that act of justice was not performed 
during the life of Clarke. His circumstances however were not 
necessitous, — for he was enabled to die as he lived, — doing good, 
leaving a Will by which his Estate was to be applied to " the relief 
of the poor, and bringing up children unto learning." 

Clarke was highly respected and esteemed by Williams. Of this 
fact, an interesting memorial is preserved in the library of Brown 
University, in a copy of " The Bloody Tenet yet more Bloody," on 
one of the blank leaves of which, is an inscription in the hand-wri- 
ting of Williams, in the following words : " For his honored and 
beloved Mr. John Clarke, an eminent witness of Christ Jesus, against 
the Bloody Doctrine of Persecution, &c."] 

Beloved Friends and Countrymen, 

My due respects presented, with hearty desires of 
your present and eternal prosperity, when this short 
life is over. I was resolved to have visited you my- 
self, this winter and to have persuaded with argil- 



OF RHOJDE-ISLAND. 7 

ments of truth and love, the finishing the payments, 
relating to his Majesty's royal grant and charter to 
us ; but it pleased God, to visit me with old pains 
and lamenesses, so that sometimes I have not been 
able to rise, nor go, nor stand. I pray your courteous 
leave, therefore, of saluting you with these few lines, 
and your favorable attention to them. On two 
hinges my discourse shall turn. First, The fair- 
ness and equity of the matter. Second, The 
damage and hazard, if not performed. 

As to the first, the fairness of the matter, please 
you to hear two or three witnesses. The first is 
Common Honesty and Common Justice in common 
dealings between man and man. This gives to 
every man, his due, a pennyworth for a penny, and 
will cry shame upon us, that Mr. Clarke should be 
undone, yea, destroyed and ruined, as to this world, 
for his so great and so long pains, faithfulness and 
diligence, for which he ought in common justice, to 
be faithfully satisfied and honorably rewarded, 
although, it should have pleased God, to have granted 
him no success, no charter, no favor in the eyes of 
our sovereign Lord, the King. These very bar- 
barians when they send forth a public messenger, 
they furnish him out, they defray all payments, they 
gratify him with rewards, and if he prove lame and 



8 LETTER TO THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY 

sick and not able to return, they visit him and bring 
him home upon their shoulders, and that many scores 
of miles, with all care and tenderness. 

At the first, Rhode Island, but afterwards the 
whole Colony requested, employed and sent to Mr. 
Clarke a commission and credentials sealed, which 
the King was satisfied, and owned him for our public 
agent. Now let me say these two things which 
mine eyes have seen. First when I left Mr. Clarke 
in England to negotiate the affairs of the whole 
Colony, I saw with what a low sail he stood along ; 
with what content, patience and self-denial, which 
course I know he hath continued, having received 
but little supply from us, nor of his own estate, 
which he continually wrote for. 2. At our General 
Assembly when Mr. Clarke's accounts were fairly 
brought in, and what he had received and what he 
had borrowed, upon the mortgage of his house and 
land, to go through our work, the Assembly ap- 
pointed a committee of able and judicious men to 
examine the accounts : upon whose report and upon 
their own further examination and consideration 
they saw cause to agree upon a very moderate and 
equal sum to be raised throughout the colony to be 
discharged unto him. 

Worthy Friends, it is easy to find cloaks and 



OF RHODE-ISLAND- 9 

colors for denials or delays to any business we have 
no minds to. I have visited my neighbors at 
Providence, this winter. Some say they are sorry 
and ashamed of the delays and promise to finish it 
with speed ; some few say, they have done it ; some 
say they like not some words in the charter : some 
say they will pay, if all do ; some are against all 
government and charters and. corporations ; some are 
not so, and yet cry out against thieves and robbers 
who take any thing from them against their wills ; 
some say they will see what became of their former 
payment, before they will part with any more j some 
will see the charter, first, because they hear that Col. 
Cartwright carried the charter into England with 
him : some say, let those that sent Mr. Clarke into 
England at first, pay him, and some say other things ; 
but none say aught, in my judgment which answers 
the witness of Common Honesty : for the whole 
sum and scope of his Majesty's royal grant and 
charter to us, is to bestow upon us two inestimable- 
jewels. The first is peace, commonly called among 
all men, the King's Peace, among ourselves and 
among all the King's subjects and friends, in this 
country and wheresoever : and, further, at our agent's 
most reasonable petition, the King prohibits all his 
subjects to act any hostility toward our Natives 



10 LETTER TO THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY 

inhabiting with us without our consent, which hath 
hitherto been otherwise practiced to our continual 
and great grievance and disturbance. 

The second jewel is Liberty. The first, of our 
spirits, which neither Old nor New England knows 
the like, nor no part of the world a greater. 

2d. Liberty of our persons ; no life, no limb taken 
from us, no corporeal punishment, no restraint but 
by known laws and agreements of our own making. 

3. Liberty of our Estates, horses, cattle, lands, 
goods, not a penny to be taken by any rate from us, 
without every man's free debate by his deputies, 
chosen by himself, and sent to the General 
Assembly. 

4. Liberty of society or corporation, of sending or 
being sent to the General Assembly, of choosing and 
being chosen to all offices and of making or repealing 
all laws and constitutions among us. 

5. A liberty, which other charters have not, to 
wit, of attending to the laws of England, with a 
favorable mitigation, viz, not absolutely, but respect- 
ing our wilderness estate and condition. 

I confess it were to be wished, that these dainties 
might have fallen from God, and the King, like 
showers and dews and manna from heaven, gratis 
and free, like a joyful harvest or vintage, without 



OF RHODE-ISLAND, 11 

any pains of our husbandry ; but since the most holy 
God, the first Cause, hath ordained second causes 
and means and agents and instruments, it is no more 
honest for us to withdraw in this case, than for men 
to come to an Ordinary and to call for the best wine 
and liquor, the best meats roast and baked, the best 
attendance, &c. and to be able to pay for all and yet 
most unworthily steal away and not discharge the 
reckoning. 

My second witness is Common Gratitude, famous 
among all mankind, yea, among brute beasts, even 
the wildest and fiercest, for kindness received. It 
is true, Mr. Clarke might have a just respect to his 
own and the peace and liberty of his friends of his 
own persuasion. But I believe the weight that 
turned the scale with him was the truth of God, viz. 
a just liberty to all men's spirits in spiritual matters, 
together with the peace and prosperity of the whole 
colony. This, I know, put him upon incredible 
pains and travail, straits and anguish, day and night, 
himself and his friends and ours, which I believe a 
great sum of money would not hire him to wade 
through the like again. I will not trouble you with 
the allowances, payments, and gratuities of other 
colonies in like cases. Only let me present you with 
a famous story out of our English records. Henry 



12 LETTER TO THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY 

the Third, as I remember fell out with the city of 
London, took away their charter and set a governor 
over them, which brought many evils and sorrows on 
them. But Doctor Redman, so called, pacified the 
King's anger and procured a restitution of their 
charter, though with great charges and payments of 
moneys. Now while this Redman lived, they 
honored him as a father and heaped all possible 
gratuities upon him ; and when he died they decreed 
that the Lord Mayor and Aldermen and chief citizens, 
should, yearly and solemnly visit his tomb, which 
mine eyes have seen performed in the public walks 
in Paul's, and I presume, it is practised to this day. 
I will not trouble you with the application of this 
story, but present you with my third Witness of the 
fairness of this matter, which is Christianity, which 
we all pretend to, though in various and different 
persuasions. This witness soars high above Com- 
mon justice and Common gratitude, yea, above all 
religions. This not only speaks home for due pay- 
ment and due thankfulness, but of doing good for 
evil, of paying blessing for cursing, of praying for 
enemies and persecutors, of selling houses and lands r 
yea, of laying down lives for others. Common 
justice would not, Common gratitude would not, 
least of all will Christianity, employ a public mes- 



OF RHODE-ISLAND. 13 

senger unto a mighty King and there leave him to 
shift for his living and means to go through so high 
a service, nor leave him to shift for moneys and to 
mortgage his house and lands to carry on our busi- 
ness and thus to forfeit and lose them j and lost 
they are, as all must see, except a speedy redemption 
save them. Shall we say we are christians, yea but 
ingenuous or just men, to ride securely, in a trou- 
blous sea and time, by a new cable and anchor of 
Mr. Clarke's procuring and to be so far from satisfy- 
ing his engagement about them, that we turn him 
adrift to languish and sink, with his back broke, for 
putting under his shoulder, to ease us. " Which of 
you," said Christ Jesus to his enemies " will see an 
ox or a sheep fall into a pit and not pull it out on 
the Sabbath day." What beast can labor harder, in 
ploughing, drawing or carrying, than Mr. Clarke 
hath done so long a time, and with so little pro- 
vender? Shall we now when he looks for rest 
at night, tumble him, by our neglects into a ditch 
of sadness, grief, poverty and ruin ? 

Give me leave, therefore to mention my second 
part or hinge, which is the hazard we run by not a 
free discharging. For first, one of these three points 
we must steer on : either Mr. Clarke must patiently 
lie in the pit and languish and perish, (I speak as to 



14 LETTER TO THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY 

us, for I know there is a paymaster in the heavens 
who will not fail him ;) or second, some volunteers 
must patiently put under their shoulders and bear 
the common burden, which for myself I am ready 
to do, although I part with my clothes from my 
back ; or third, the rate must be taken by distraint, 
in the King's name and authority, and this we know, 
will be more grievous and chargeable, yet cannot be 
avoided, if we resolve not to turn rebels or loose 
vagrants to be catched up by other colonies and 
governments ; or else to leave our cattle, children, 
wives and lives to be torn out of our bosoms by the 
strongest arm, catch who catch can. It is true that 
honesty and innocency, reason and scripture are 
infinitely excellent in their way, but are they suf- 
ficient to charm, except God please to give his spirit, 
adders, serpents, foxes, wolves, yea, or to order tame 
beasts without bit or bridle, as David speaks, by 
which we all know what David means. 

Secondly. If we wholly neglect this business, 
what will become of our credit ? Rhode-Island, in 
the Greek language, is an Isle of Roses, and so the 
King's Majesty was pleased to resent it ; and his 
honorable commissioners in their last letter to the 
Massachusetts from the eastward, gave Rhode-Island 
and this whole colony an honorable testimony which 



OF RHODE-ISLAND. 15 

is like to be pointed to the view of the whole world. 
Shall we now turn our roses into hemlock and our 
fragrant ointment into carrion ? Our own names, in 
a righteous way ought to be more precious to us, 
than thousands of gold or silver, how much, in- 
finitely more precious, the name of the most Holy 
and most High and his holy truth of soul-liberty 
amongst us. 

Thirdly. Again, who knows, what storms and 
tempests yet abide us. Who now will ever be em- 
ployed by such masters, in whatsoever straits we 
may come into ? Hath not God taught beasts and 
birds to be shy of being deceived, especially the 
second time ? How justly shy are the Christians of 
the Turks, because they are not to be true to Christ- 
ian dogs, as like dogs they speak. How shy are 
the Protestants of the Papists, because of their 
principle and practice, to keep no faith with Heretics. 
Who will not heareafter be fearful to trust us, when 
like false Merchants, our bills shall be protested, that 
all men may take heed how they deal with us. 

Fourthly. What a worm and sting of bitterness 
will it be to us to remember, like Jerusalem in the 
days of affliction, all our things, such peace, such 
security, such liberties, for soul and body as were 
never enjoyed by any Englishman, nor any in the 



16 LETTER TO THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY 

whole world, that I have heard of. If now, for our 
unthankfulness, it should please God to turn the 
wind and bring the wheel over us and to clap on 
our necks those iron yokes which so many thousands 
and millions of men's necks are under in all nations 
of mankind, will it not then be as gall to our minds, 
to call to mind how free we were, yea, to our chil- 
dren's minds, to remember how free their fathers 
were and might have bequeathed and transferred 
unto them such precious and invaluable treasures ? 

Fifthly. With what indignation, must we needs 
imagine, will the King himself entertain the thought 
of such a people, that shall so undervalue and slight 
the rich and extraordinary favor which it pleased 
God to put into his royal heart to bestow upon the 
colony. How hath God been pleased to turn the 
King's heart toward us, as rivers of water. How 
hath his favor to us, fallen like dew upon Gideon's 
fleece, while all the world lies round about us dry 
and barren of such liberties. What can we now 
expect but the roaring of a lion, unto such an un- 
righteous and ungrateful generation ? 

Sixthly. And yet if we imagine our mountain 
to be immoveable by any winds or shakings under 
heaven, yet we must look higher, to the most High 
King and Judge of the whole world, in whose most 



OF RHODE-ISLAND. 1? 

powerful hand we profess to have breath and being, 
our ways and motions. He hath whips and scourges 
for colonies and countries, nations and kingdoms, as 
we have felt in New England this last year, and 
have dolefully heard, from Old. How have the 
arrows of the pestilence pierced the hearts of 
thousands and tens of thousands of our fellow 
English. How dreadfully hath he mixed the blood 
of English, Dutch and French with the briny ocean. 
His jealousy was pleased to cause a black cloud to 
hover over this country, this last summer. It pleased 
him to cause this cloud to break and fall on some 
of our countrymen to the Southard and Westward 
of us, and then to run to the Northward and East- 
ward of us to Newfoundland, but not to come near 
our habitations. 

Shall now New England say, shall this colony say, 
it is for our righteousness — there are no sins that cry 
in this colony and country for justice to revenge 
abused mercy ? 

Worthy friends, the changes of the heavens and 
the earth have been great and sudden, seen and 
felt by us all, this winter. Let us not soothe and 
sing ourselves asleep, with murdering lullabies. Let 
us provide for changes and by timely humiliation, 
prevent them. For myself, seeing what I see over 
3* 



18 CONCERNING SLEEPE AND LODGING 

all New England, I cannot but say with David y 
Psalm 119. My flesh trembleth for fear of thee 
and I am afraid of thy judgments. 

I remain, longing after your present and 
eternal Peace, 

ROGER WILLIAMS. 
Providence Jan. 1665-6 so called. 



CONCERNING SLEEPE AND LODGING OF THE 
INDIANS. 

(From a Key into the Language of America, & c.) 
BY ROGER WILLIAMS. 

THE GENERALL OBSERVATION. 

Sweet rest is not confind to soft Beds, for not only 
God gives his beloved sleep on hard lodging; 
but also Nature and Custome gives sound sleep to 
these Americans on the Earth, on a Boord or Mat. 
Yet how is Europe bound to God for better lodg- 
ing, &c. 

More particular ; 
God gives them sleep on Ground, on Straw, 

on Sedgie Mats or Boord : 
When English Softest Beds of Downe, 
sometimes no sleep affoord. 

I have knowne them leave their House and Mat, 
to lodge a Friend or stranger, 



OF THE INDIANS. 19 

When Jewes and Christians oft have sent 
Christ Jesus to the Manger. 

'Fore day they invocate their Gods, 

though Many False and New : 
O how should that God worshipt be, 
who is but One and True ! 
***** 
How sweetly doe all the severall sorts of Heaven's 
Birds, in all Coasts of the World, preach unto men 
the prayse of their Maker's Wisdome, Power, and 
Goodnesse, who feedes them and their young ones 
Summer and Winter with their severall sorts of 
foode : although they neither sow nor reape, nor 
gather into Barnes ! 

If Birds that neither sow nor reape 

Nor store up any food, 
Constantly find to them and theirs 

A maker kind and good ! 
If man provide eke for his Birds, 

In Yard, in Coops, in Cage, 
And each Bird spends in songs and Tunes, 

His little time and Age ! 
What care will Man, what care will God 

For his wife and children take ? 
Millions of Birds and Worlds will God 

Sooner than his, forsake. 
1643. 



20 



ROGER WILLIAMS. 

BY FRANCES H. WHIPPLE. 

Illustrious pioneer of liberty ; 
Parent and founder of the truly free ! 
No treachery deforms thy peerless story ; 
No deed of vengeance sullies thy pure glory. 
Thy precept and example, hand in hand, 
Went like fair sisters o'er the smiling land ; 
While the rude Indian, true to Nature's law, 
Knew what was good, and trusted what he saw. 
He met thee as a brother — gave his land — 
And thou gav'st him an open honest hand ; 
Nor was his simple nature e'er deceived ; 
Nor his proud, noble spirit once aggrieved ; 
He was thy brother — thou, 'neath closest scan, 
Mid all temptations, wert — an honest man : 
Rhode Islanders, with virtuous pride, can tell 
Thy line of life has but one parallel — 
Thou, and the Son of Peace — the western sage — 
Were the twin stars of your illiberal age. 
When warlike fame as morning mist shall fly, 
And blood-stained glory, as a meteor, die ; 
When all the dross is known, and cast away, 
And the pure gold, alone, allowed to stay, 
Two names will stand, the pride of virtuous men, 
Our Roger Williams, and good William Penn. 



21 



TO THE WEATHERCOCK ON OUR STEEPLE. 

BY ALBERT G. GREENE. 

The dawn has broke, the morn is up, 

Another day begun ; 
And there thy poised and gilded spear 

Is flashing in the sun, 
Upon that steep and lofty tower 

Where thou thy watch hast kept, 
A true and faithful sentinel, 

While all around thee slept. 

For years, upon thee, there, has poured 

The summer's noon-day heat, 
And through the long, dark, starless night, 

The winter storms have beat ; 
But yet thy duty has been done, 

By day and night the same, 
Still thou hast met and faced the storm, 

Whichever way it came. 

No chilling blast in wrath has swept 

Along the distant heaven, 
But thou hast watched its onward course 

And instant warning given ; 
And when mid-summer's sultry beams 

Oppress all living things, 
Thou dost foretell each breeze that comes 

With health upon its wings. 



22 TO THE WEATHERCOCK 

How oft I've seen, at early dawn, 

Or twilight's quiet hour, 
The swallows, in their joyous glee 

Come darting round thy tower,, 
As if, with thee, to hail the sun 

And catch his earliest light, 
And offer ye the morn's salute, 

Or bid ye both, — good night* 

And when, around thee or above, 

No breath of air has stirred, 
Thou seem'st to watch the circling flight 

Of each free, happy bird,. 
Till after twittering round thy head 

In many a mazy track, 
The whole delighted company 

Have settled on thy back. 

Then, if perchance amidst their mirth,, 

A gentle breeze has sprung, 
And prompt to mark its first approach, 

Thy eager form hath swung, 
I've thought I almost heard thee say, 

As far aloft they flew, — 
" Now all away ! — here ends our play* 

For I have work to do f" 

Men slander thee, my honest friends 
And call thee in their pride, 



ON OUR STEEPLE. 23 

An emblem of their fickleness, 

Thou ever faithful guide. 
Each weak, unstable human mind 

A " weathercock " they call ,; 
And thus, unthinkingly, mankind 

Abuse thee, one and all. 

They have no right to make thy name 

A by-word for their deeds : — 
They change their friends, their principles, 

Their fashions, and their creeds ; 
Whilst thou hast ne'er, like them, been known 

Thus causelessly to range ,; 
But when thou cfiangest sides, canst give 

Good reason for the change. 

Thou, like some lofty soul, whose course 

The thoughtless oft condemn, 
Art touched by many airs from heaven 

Which never breathe on them, — ■ 
And moved by many impulses 

Which they do never know, 
Who, 'round their earth-bound circles, plod 

The dusty paths below. 

Through one more dark and cheerless night 

Thou well hast kept thy trust, 
And now in glory o'er thy head 

The morning light has burst. 






24 THE POET. 

And unto Earth's true watcher, thus, 
When his dark hours have passed, 

Will come " the day-spring from on high," 
To cheer his path at last. 

Bright symbol of fidelity, 

Still may I think of thee : 
And may the lesson thou dost teach 

Be never lost on me ; — 
But still, in sun-shine or in storm, 

Whatever task is mine, 
M ay I be faithful to my trust 

As thou hast been to thine. 



THE POET. 

BY MRS. SOPHIA LITTLE. 

He is happy ; not that fame 
Giveth him a glorious name ; 
For the world's applause is vain, 
Lost and won with little pain : 
But a sense is in his spirit, 
Which no vulgar minds inherit ; 
A second sight of soul which sees 
Into Nature's mysteries. 

Place him by the ocean's side, 
When the waters dash with pride ; 



THE POET. 125 

With their wild and awful roll 
Deep communes his lifted soul. 
Now let the sudden tempest come 
From its cloudy Eastern home ; 
Let the thunder's fearful shocks 
Break among the dark rough rocks. 
And lightning, as the waves aspire, 
Crown them with a wreath of fire ; 
Let the wind with sullen breath 
Seem to breathe a dir^e of death : 
Thou may'st feel thy cheek turn pale ; 
But he that looks within the veil, 
The Bard, high priest at Nature's shrine, 
Trembles with a warmth divine. 
His heaving breast, his kindling eye, 
His brow's expanding majesty, 
Show that the spirit of his thought 
Hath Nature's inspiration caught.. 

Now place him in a gentle scene, 
'Neath an autumn sky serene ; 
Let some hamlet skirt his way, 
Gleaming in the fading day ; 
Let him hear the distant low 
Of the herds that homeward go ; 
Let him catch, as o'er it floats, 
The music of the robin's notes, 
As softly sinks upon its nest 
4 



26 THE POET. 

He, of birds the kindliest ; 

Let him catch from yonder nook 

The murmur of the minstrel brook ; 

The stones that fain would check its way 

It leapeth o'er with purpose gay, 

Or only lingers for a time, 

To draw from them a merrier chime ; 

E'en as a gay and gentle mind, 

Though rough breaks in life it find, 

Passeth by as 'twere not so, 

Or draws sweet uses out of woe ; 

The scene doth on his soul impress 

Its glory and its loveliness. 

Now place him in some festal hall, 

The merry band of minstrels call, 

Banish sorrow, pain, and care, 

Let graceful sprightly youth be there, 

Beauty, with her jewelled zone 

And sparkling drapery round her thrown. 

Beauty, who surest aims her glance, 

When the free motion of the dance 

All her varied charms hath stirred, 

As the plumage of a bird 

Shows brightest when in air he springs, 

Spreading forth his sunny wings. 

Place the bard in scenes like this, 

E'en here he knows no common bliss. 



THE POET. 27 

Beauty, mirth, and music twined 
Shed bland witchery o'er his mind. 
Yet not alone these charm his eyes, 
In fancy other sights he spies ; 
The ancient feats of chivalry, 
Of war's and beauty's rivalry. 
That hall becomes an open space, 
Where knights contend for ladies' grace. 
He sees a creature far more fair 
Than any forms around him are ; 
One love-glance of her radiant eyes, 
The boon for which the valiant dies r 
He sees the armored knights advance, 
He hears the shiver of the lance, 
And then the shot when tourney's done 
That greets the conquering champion, 
While, kneeling at his lady's feet, 
The victor's heart doth scarcely beat, 
As, blushing like a new-born rose, 
His chosen Queen the prize bestows. 

But would you know the season when, 
He triumphs most o'er other men, 
See him when heart, pulse, and brain, 
Are bound in Love's mysterious chain. 
Behold him then beside the maid ; 
There's not one curl hath thrown its shade 
In vain upon that bosom's swell. 



2S THE POET. 

All are secrets of the spell 
That holds the visionary boy 
Breathless- in his trance of joy. 
And yet no definite desire 
Does that strong sob of bliss inspire ; 
But sweetly vague and undefined 
The feeling that enthralls his mind, 
An indistinct deep dream of heaven 
Her melting shadowy eye hath givem 

These the Poet's pleasures are, 

These the dull world cannot share, 

These make fame so poor a prize 

In his Heaven-enlightened eyes. 

What is poetry but this f 

A glimpse of our lost state of bliss ; 

A noble reaching of the mind 

For that for which it was designed, 

A sign to lofty spirits given, 

To show them they were born for Heaven ; 

Light from above, quenched when it falls 

Where the gross earth with darkness palls 

The fallen soul content to be 

Wed to its sad degeneracy ; 

But when, like light on crystal streams* 

On a pure mind its effluence beams, 

Hew brightly in such spirit lies 

An image of the far off skies \ 



29 



VARIETY OF OPINIONS ON RELIGION. 

From the Minute Philosopher.* 
BY BISHOP BERKELEY.")" 

The variety of opinions about religion is a resting 
stone to a lazy and superficial mind. But one of 
more spirit and a juster way of thinking, makes it a 
step whence he looks about, and proceeds to exam- 
ine, and compare the differing institutions of reli- 
gion. He will observe, which of these is the most 
sublime and rational in its doctrines, most venerable 
in its mysteries, most useful in its precepts, most 
decent in its worship ? Which createth the noblest 
hopes, and most worthy views ? He will consider 
their rise and progress, which oweth least to human 
arts or arms ? Which flatters the senses and gross 
inclinations of men ? Which adorns and improves 
the most excellent part of our nature ? Which hath 

* Modern Free-thinkers are the very same with those Cicero 
called Minute Philosophers, which name admirably suits them, 
they being a sect which diminish all the most valuable things, the 
thoughts, views, and hopes of men : human nature they contract 
and degrade to the narrow, low standard of animal life and assign 
us only a small pittance of time, instead of immortality. 

[Minute Philosopher, Dialogue I. 
tNote 1. — See Appendix. 
4* 



30 I \IUETY OF OPINIONS ON RELIGION. 

been propagated in the most wonderful manner r 
Which hath surmounted the greatest difficulties, or 
shewed the most disinterested zeal and sincerity in 
its professors ? He will inquire, which best accords 
with nature and history ? He will consider, what 
favors of the world, and what looks like wisdom 
from above ? He will be careful to separate human 
alloy from that which is divine; and upon the 
whole, form his judgment like a reasonable free- 
thinker. But instead of taking such a rational course, 
one of those hasty sceptics shall conclude without 
demurring, that there is no wisdom in politics, no 
honesty in dealings, no knowledge in philosophy, 
no truth in religion : and all by one and the same 
sort o( inference, from the numerous examples of 
folly, knavery, ignorance and error, which are to be 
met with in the world. But, as those, who are un- 
knowing in every thing else, imagine themselves 
shaq>-sighted in religion, this learned sophism is 
ot'ienest levelled against Christianity. * * * * 

Thinking is the great desideratum of the pre- 
sent age : and the real cause o{ whatever is amiss, 
may justly he reckoned the general neglect o{ educa- 
tion, in those who need it most, the people of fashion. 
What can he expected when those, who have the 
most influence, have the least sense, and those who 



VARIETY OF OPINIONS ON RELIGION. 31 

are sure to be followed, set the worst examples ? 
When youth so uneducated, are yet so forward ? 
When modesty is esteemed pusillanimity, and a 
deference to years, knowledge, religion, laws, want 
of sense and spirit ? Such untimely growth of 
genius would not have been valued, or encouraged 
by the wise men of antiquity : whose sentiments on 
this point are so ill suited to the genius of our times, 
that it is to be feared, modern ears could not bear 
them. But, however ridiculous such maxims might 
seem to our British youth, who are so capable and 
so forward to try experiments, and mend the constitu- 
tion of their country : I believe it will be admitted 
by men of sense, that if the governing part of 
mankind, would in these days, for experiment's sake, 
consider themselves in that old Homerical light as 
pastors of the people, whose duty it was to improve 
their flock, they would soon find, that this is to be 
done by an education, very different from the 
modern, and other maxims, than those of the Minute 
Philosophy. If our youth were really inured to 
thought and reflexion, and an acquaintance with the 
excellent writers of antiquity, we should see that 
licentious humour, vulgarly called free-thinking. 
banished from the presence of gentlemen, together 
with ignorance and ill taste : which, as they are in- 



32 ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA, 

separable from vice, so men follow vice for the sake 
of pleasure, and fly from virtue, through an abhor- 
rence of pain. Their minds, therefore, betimes 
should be formed and accustomed to receive pleasure 
and pain from proper objects, or, which is the same 
thing, to have their inclinations and aversions rightly 
placed. This, according to Plato and Aristotle, was 
the right education. And those, who, in their own 
minds, their health, or their fortunes, feel the cursed 
effects of a wrong one, would do well to consider, 
they cannot better make amends for what was amiss 
in themselves, than by preventing the same in pos- 
terity. 



ON THE PROSPECT OF PLANTING ARTS AND 
LEARNING IN AMERICA. 

Written by Bishop Berkeley during his residence in Newport. 

The muse, disgusted at an age and clime, 

Barren of every glorious theme, 
In distant lands now waits a better time, 

Producing subjects worthy fame : 

In happy climes, where from the genial sun 
And virgin earth fresh scenes ensue, 



ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA. 33 

The force of art by nature seems outdone, 
And fancied beauties by the true : 

In happy climes, the seat of innocence, 
Where nature guides and virtue rules, 

Where men shall not impose for truth and sense 
The pedantry of courts and schools : 

There shall be sung another golden age, 

The rise of empire and of arts, 
The good and great inspiring epic rage, 

The wisest heads and noblest hearts. 

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay ; 

Such as she bred when fresh and young, 
When heavenly flame did animate the clay. 

By future ages shall be sung. 

Westward the course of empire takes its way ; 

The four first acts already past, 
A fifth shall close the drama with the day ; 
Time's noblest offspring is the last, 
1730. 



34 



THE TRAILING ARBUTUS. 

BY SARAH H. WHITMAN. 

There's a flower that grows by the greenwood tree. 

In its desolate beauty more dear to me, 

Than al] that bask in the noontide beam 

Through the long, bright summer by fount and stream, 

Like a pure hope nursed beneath sorrow's wing 

Its timid buds from the cold moss spring, 

Their delicate hues like the pink sea-shell, 

Or the shaded blush of the hyacinth's bell, 

Their breath more sweet than the faint perfume 

That breathes from the bridal orange-bloom. 

It is not found by the garden wall, 

It wreaths no brow in the festive hall, 

But dwells in the depths of the shadowy wood* 

And shines like a star in the solitude. 

Never did numbers its name prolong, 

Ne'er hath it floated on wings of song, 

Bard and minstrel have passed it by 

And left it in silence and shade to die. 

But with joy to its cradle the wild-bees come 

And praise its beauty with drony hum, 

And children love in the season of spring 

To watch for its early blossoming* 



THE TRAILING ARBUTUS. 35 

In the dewy morn of an April day, 

When the traveler lingers along the way, 

When the sod is sprinkled with tender green 

Where rivulets water the earth unseen, 

When the floating fringe on the maple's crest 

Rivals the tulip's crimson vest, 

And the budding leaves of the birch-tree throw 

A trembling shade on the turf below, 

W T hen my flower awakes from its dreamy rest 

And yields its lips to the sweet south-west, 

Then, in those beautiful days of spring, 

With hearts as light as the wild-bird's wing, 

Flinging their tasks and their toys aside, 

Gay little groups through the wood-paths glide, 

Peeping and peering among the trees 

As they scent its breath on the passing breeze, 

Hunting about among lichens grey 

And the tangled mosses beside the way, 

Till they catch the glance of its quiet eye 

Like light that breaks through a cloudy sky. 

For me, sweet blossom, thy tendrils cling 
Still round my heart as in childhood's spring, 
And thy breath, as it floats on the wandering air, 
Wakes all the music of memory there. 
Thou recallest the time when, a fearless child, 
I roved all day through the wood-paths wild, 
Seeking thy blossoms by bank and brae 
Wherever the snow-drifts had melted away* 



3ti THE LANGUAGE OF A FUTURE STATE. 

Now, as I linger mid crowds alone, 

Haunted by echoes of music flown, 

When the shadows deepen around my way 

And the light of reason but leads astray, 

When affections, nurtured with fondest care 

By the trusting heart, become traitors there ; 

When weary of all that the world bestows 

1 turn to nature for calm repose, 

How fain my spirit in some far glen 

Would fold her wings mid thy flowers again ! 



THE LANGUAGE OF A FUTURE STATE. 

BY ROWLAND G. HAZARD. 

It is probable that in the future and more perfect 
state of existence, we shall possess a means of so- 
cial intercourse free from ambiguity — that the 
pleasure of advancement will be increased by its 
consequent acceleration — that when deprived of the 
material organs, words and signs will no longer be 
employed — in a word, that the language of ideality, 
which a partial improvement of our faculties has 
here exhibited, will then be so perfected, that terms 
will be entirely dispensed with, and thought be there 
communicated without the intervention of any 
medium to distort its meaning or sully its bright- 



THE LANGUAGE OF A FUTURE STATE. 37 

ness — that ideas will there flow directly from mind 
to mind, and the soul be continually exhilarated by 
breathing a pure congenial atmosphere, inhaling feel- 
ing, poetry, and knowledge. 

This conjecture derives a further plausibility, from 
the consideration that our present language seems 
especially adapted to things material, that in the 
purely physical sciences we can communicate ideas 
with great accuracy and precision — that the diffi- 
culty of doing this increases in proportion as our feel- 
ings and the qualities of mind enter into the subject 
to which we endeavor to apply it, and when they 
become exclusively its objects, it almost entirely 
fails. Poetry has accomplished much more than 
the other forms in portraying the passions, senti- 
ments, and all the more striking and complicated 
mental phenomena, but even that has shed but a 
feeble light over a small portion of this interesting 
field of research, or in bright but fitful gleams, shown 
the undefined vastness not yet explored. Our pres- 
ent language, then, is wholly inadequate to a subject, 
which of all others must most interest a world of 
spirits, as if it were intended only to carry us to the 
point from which we are there to start — to give us a 
glimpse of the infinite regions, which imagination 

has not yet traversed — the exhaustless sources of 
5 



3S THE LANGUAGE OF A FUTURE STATE. 

thought which mind still possesses, while the lan- 
guage of ideality has here accomplished just enough 
in the exhibition of the subjects of our internal 
consciousnesss, to assure us that it also possesses the 
elements of a power, which when matured, may be- 
come the fitting instrument to gather the treasures of 
that unexplored immensity. But may we not go far- 
ther, and say that we have even here a foretaste, or at 
least a nearer approach to this angelic pleasure? Have 
we not witnessed the soul in all its purity and vigor, 
throwing off the trammels which words impose on its 
highest action, and, as if anticipating its conscious 
destiny, in a transport of impassioned thought and 
feeling, almost entirely discarding the usual mode of 
expressing them, when the eloquence of the eye 
anticipates the tongue, when every feature kindles 
with emotion, and the whole countenance is as a 
transparency lighted with its glowing conceptions ? 
It is then that terms" are most nearly dispensed with, 
and it is in this sympathetic mingling of thought 
and sentiment that we enjoy the purest poetry which 
warms the soul in its earthly tabernacle. Those 
who have known the raptures of such converse and 
have felt its exalting influence, will regard it as 
worthy a place in a higher sphere, and be willing to 
admit it to their most entrancing reveries of elysian 



THE LANGUAGE OF A FUTURE STATE. 39 

bliss. Does not this view lend a delightful confirma- 
tion to our hypothesis? But the argument derives 
yet additional strength from the consideration that 
this faculty, this power of silent, yet vivid expression, 
seems somewhat proportioned to moral excellence, 
or increases as the spiritual predominates over the 
material part of our natures — that in most men it is 
at best but dimly visible — that in those of the finer 
grade of intellect, whose feelings have been cultiva- 
ted, whose purity has never been sullied by corrod- 
ing care and ignoble pursuits, nor their sensibility 
blunted by too rude collision with the world, it 
becomes more apparent ; while in the sex of finer 
mould, who are elevated above these degrading in- 
fluences — whose feelings are more pure — whose 
sentiments are more refined — and whose spirits are 
more etherial, it manifests itself with a softened 
splendor, to which that of angels, may well be sup- 
posed, only another step in the scale of a magnifi- 
cent progression. It is to the superiority which 
woman has in this expressive language ; to her com- 
mand of this direct avenue to the finer feelings, that 
we must attribute her influence in refining and soft- 
ening the asperities of our nature. And it is owing 
to the possession of this element of moral elevation, 
that while the finest and strongest reasoning of 



40 THE LANGUAGE OF A FUTURE STATE. 

philosophy has, in this respect, acccomplished so 
little, that woman has accomplished so much. She 
possesses not the strength which has been exhibited 
by some masculine minds, nor perhaps even the 
brilliancy which has emanated from others ; but 
the influence which they respectively exert on so- 
ciety appears in strange disproportion to the apparent 
causes. The one is as the sun, which sheds his 
strong beams upon the waters, and the waves proudly 
reflect his dazzling brilliancy ; the other, as the moon, 
whose milder light melts into the ocean ; glows 
through all its depths ; heaves its mighty bosom, and 
elevates it above its common level. 

The refined subtleties of an Aristotle, or the 
glowing sublimities of a Plato, though presented to 
us with all the fascinations of a high-toned morality ? 
and clothed in the imposing grandeur of a lofty and 
commanding eloquence, are dim and powerless to 
that effusion of soul, that seraphic fervor, which 
with a glance unlocks the avenues to our tenderness,, 
which chides our errors with a tear, or winning us to 
virtue with the omnipotence of a charm, irradiates 
its path with the beaming eye, and cheers it with 
the approving smile of loveliness. And hence, too, 
it is, that the degree in which this influence is felt. 



THE LIVING-DEAD. 41 

and its source appreciated, is justly considered as 
the test of civilization and refinement. 

Is there not in this mild, gentle, silent, persuasive, 
yet dissolving and resistless influence, a charm 
which bears witness to its celestial character ? Do 
we not recognize in it a similarity to that of heaven, 
and if we have ascribed it to its proper cause, does 
not this similarity at once stamp our speculation, if 
not with the seal of a moral certainty, at least with 
the impress of a cheering probability ? 

THE LIVING. DEAD. 

BY WILLIAM J. HOPPIN. 

" Yet one doubt 
Pursues me still, lest all I cannot die : 
Lest that pure breath of life, the spirit of man 
Which God inspired, cannot together perish 
With this corporeal clod : then in the grave, 
Or in some other dismal place, who knows, 
But I shall die a living death ?" 

[Paradise Lost, JB. X. 



I dreamed that Death had froze 

This young and glowing frame : 

But He, whose grasp the pulse could chill, 

Had failed the hidden sense to still, 

Or loose the prisoned flame : 

Had fled away 

From his half-slain prey 

And left the conscious Soul bound to the mouldering clay. 

5# 



42 THE LIVING-DEAD, 

I heard a requiem sung — 
A prayer to Heaven said — 
A sigh breathed forth — perchance a tear 
Moistened the pall above my bier — 
But soon they left the dead : 
And soon forgot, 
For there came not 
One friendly footstep back to cheer the lonely spot. 

The years, which once seemed fleet, 
How slowly they passed by ! 
The winter's storm did hoarsely rave 
Long, long, ere round my gloomy grave 
The summer breeze did sigh » 

But the doleful knell 

Would often tell 
That another shade had fled in death's dark land to dwell. 

Oh, thrice, thrice happy soul ! 
Like mine it was not doomed 
To pass ten thousand years away — 
Undying Spirit chained to clay, 
Immortal Thought entombed !. 

Can Hell bestow 

A fiercer woe 
Than this, through countless years to die and still to know ? 



\ 



THE LIVING-DEAD. 43 

Now centuries had past ; 

The funeral knell was o'er, 

The sons forgot where their fathers lay 

For I heard the plough-share grate its way 

Where the grave-stone stood before ; 

And the reapers tread 

Above my head, 
And sing their merry songs among the silent dead, 

And there a forest sprang 

From the ground where we reclined. 

The lofty boughs spread high in Heaven — 

For I heard them groan by the tempest driven, — ■ 

The roots our dust entwined : 

But a fire at last 

O'er the forest passed 
And each firm root decayed beneath the withering blast, 

And there, deep, still, alone, 

In a barren waste I lay, 

Hushed was the song of the cheerful bird. 

And nought of human sound I heard, 

All, all, had passed away — 

And the years stole by 

So silently, 
I thought that Nature slept in mortal lethargy. 



44 THE ANNIVERSARY OF 

Hark ! thunder wakes the world, 
It rives the trembling sod ! 
The burning Universe doth tell 
This is the voice of the Archangel, 
This is the Trump of God ! 

Aye, He hath spoke — 

The trance is broke — 
" Ye Living -Dead arise !" Shuddering with fear, I woke. 



THE ANNIVERSARY OF AMERICAN 
INDEPENDENCE. 

BY THE HON. JONATHAN RUSSELL. 

It is a magnificent spectacle to behold a great 
people annually crowding their temples to consecrate 
the anniversary of their sovereignty. On this occa- 
sion the heart of every true American beats high with 
a just and noble pride. He still hears the illustrious 
Fathers of his Country, appealing to the Supreme 
Judge of the World for the rectitude of their conduct, 
declare that the United States "are, and of right 
ought to be, Free and Independent." The black 
catalogue of injury, abuse, contempt, and crime, 
which exhausted forbearance and drove us to resist- 
ance, rushes on his mind. He passes in review those 
great men who then burst upon the world, and who, 



AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. 45 

endowed with every virtue and every talent which 
could fit them for the arduous task in which they 
engaged, appeared to be expressly commissioned by 
Heaven to rule the storm of revolution. It was then, 
indeed, that human nature, which for eighteen cen- 
turies had appeared nearly to have lost those qualities 
which alone ennoble it, emerged at once from its 
degradation, and recovered the lustre with which it 
shone in the happiest days of antiquity. 

On the islands of the Adriatic, the mountains of 
Biscay, and the rocks of Uri, the spirit of Liberty 
had indeed successively sought a refuge ; but driven 
at last from all that could delight her on earth, she 
had already flapped her wings on the glaciers of 
Switzerland, and was taking her flight towards 
Heaven. The American people rose — they burst 
their fetters — they hurled them at their oppressors — 
they shouted they were free. The sound broke 
across the Atlantic — it shook the fog- wrapt island of 
Britain, and re-echoed along the Alps. The ascending 
spirit heard it — she recognized in it the voice of her 
elect, and holding her course westward, she rejoicing 
saw her incense rise from a thousand altars. Her 
presence assured our triumph. Painful, however, 
was the struggle, and terrible the conflict which 
obtained that triumph — our harbors filled with hos- 



46 THE ANNIVERSARY OF 

tile fleets — our fields ravaged — our cities wrapt in 
flames — a numerous veteran and unprincipled enemy 
let loose upon us — our army thinned by battles, 
wasted by sickness, disgusted by treachery and 
desertion — a prey to every species of privation, and 
reduced to the last misery next despair. Even then, 
however, this little army shewed themselves worthy 
the holy cause for which they contended. Driven 
from Long-Island — from the heights of Harlem — 
from White Plains — pursued from post to post even 
to beyond the Delaware — they would often turn 
upon their insulting foe — and mingling their blood 
'with the melting lava of the cannon's mouth, foretel 
them of Trenton, Crermantoion, and Monmouth. 

But it was not in the ardent conflicts of the field 
only, that our countrymen fell j it was not the 
ordinary chances of war alone, which they had to 
encounter. Happy, indeed, thrice happy, were 
Warren, Montgomery and Mercer j happy those 
other gallant, spirits who fell with glory in the heat 
of battle, distinguished by their country, and covered 
with her applause. Every soul, sensible to honor, 
envies rather than compassionates their fate. It was 
in the dungeons of our inhuman invaders ; it was in 
their loathsome and pestiferous prison-ships, that the 
wretchedness of our countrymen still makes the 



AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. 47 

heart bleed. It was there, that hunger, and thirst, 
and disease, and all the contumely which cold- 
hearted cruelty could bestow, sharpened every pang 
of death. Misery there wrung every fibre that could 
feel, before she gave the blow of grace which sent 
the sufferers to eternity. It is said that poison was 
employed. No, there was no such mercy there- 
there nothing was employed which could blunt the 
susceptibility to anguish, or which by hastening 
death could rob its agonies of a single pang. On 
board one of these prison-ships above eleven thousand 
of our brave countrymen are said to have perished. 
She was called the Jersey. Her wreck still remains, 
and at low ebb presents to the world its accursed and 
blighted fragments. Twice in twenty-four hours 
the winds of Heaven sigh through it, and repeat the 
groans of our expiring countrymen ; and twice the 
ocean hides in her bosom those deadly and polluted 
ruins, which all her waters cannot purify. Every 
rain that descends washes from the unconsecrated 
bank the bones of those intrepid sufferers. They lie 
naked on the shore accusing the neglect of their 
countrymen. How long shall gratitude and even 
piety deny them burial ? They ought to be collected 
in one vast ossory, which shall stand a monument to 
future ages of the two extremes of the human 



48 Our country. 

character ; of that depravity, which, trampling on 
the rights of misfortune, perpetrated cold and calcu- 
lating murder on a wretched and defenceless prisoner; 
and that virtue which animated this prisoner to die 
a willing martyr for his country. Or rather, were it 
possible, there ought to be raised a Colossal Column. 
whose base sinking to Hell, should let the murderers 
read their infamy inscribed on it ; and whose capital 
of Corinthian laurel ascending to Heaven, should 
show the sainted Patriots that they have triumphed. 

Deep and dreadful as the coloring of this picture 
may appear, it is but a faint and imperfect sketch of 
the original. You must remember a thousand un- 
utterable calamities, a thousand instances of domestic 
as well as national anxiety and distress, which mock 
description. You ought to remember them ; you 
ought to hand them down in tradition to posterity, 
that they may know the awful price their fathers 
paid for freedom. # # # # =* 

1800. 

OUR COUNTRY. 

BY WILLIAM J. PABODIE. 

Our Country ! — 'tis a glorious land — 

With broad arms stretched from shore to shore ; — 
The proud Pacific chafes her strand, 

She hears the dark Atlantic roar ; 



OUR COUNTRY. 

And nurtured on her ample breast, 
How many a goodly prospect lies ; 

In Nature's wildest grandeur drest, 
Enamelled with her loveliest dyes. 

Rich prairies, decked with flowers of gold, 

Like sun-lit oceans roll afar ; 
Broad lakes her azure heavens behold, 

Reflecting clear each trembling star ; 
And mighty rivers, mountain-born, 

Go sweeping onward, dark and deep, 
Through forests, where the bounding fawn 

Beneath their sheltering branches leap. 

And cradled 'mid her clustering hills, 

Sweet vales in dream-like beauty hide, 
Where Love the air with music fills, 

And calm Content and Peace abide ; 
For Plenty here her fullness pours, 

In rich profusion o'er the land ; 
And sent to seize her generous stores, 

There prowls no Tyrant's hireling bancl. 

Great God ! we thank Thee for this home- 
This bounteous birth-land of the Free ; 

Where wanderers from afar may come, 
And breathe the air of Liberty ; — 
6 



50 GERMAN LITERATURE, 

Still may her flowers untrampled spring, 
Her harvests wave, her cities rise ; 

And yet till Time shall fold his wing, 
Remain earth's loveliest Paradise ! 



GERMAN LITERATURE. 

BY SARAH H. WHITMAN. 

It has been said that " it is in the German nature 
duly to honor every thing produced by other nations. " 
Our countrymen, we fear, are in danger of becoming, 
like the English, too exclusively national. We could 
wish that they had a little more of the German 
cosmopolitanism. Perhaps it is natural that when- 
ever any attempt is made by a portion of the com- 
munity to lead the public mind to new trains of 
thought or modes of action, to introduce new theo- 
ries or point out new fields for exertion or enterprise, 
that an antagonist party should spring up, whose 
tendency it is to resist all innovation. Perhaps it is 
a wise provision of nature that has thus furnished 
every age with its sentinels and warders, as well as 
with its bold and adventurous pioneers j and provided 
they conduct themselves fairly and discreetly in their 
vocation, we have no desire to see their office an- 



GERMAN LITERATURE. 51 

nulled, or to interrupt them in its rightful exercise. 
Let the sentinels give challenge to all new claimants, 
but let them not refuse admittance to any who can 
furnish a fair passport, or make out a clear title to 
be received within their guarded citadel. 

Since the efforts which have recently been making 
to introduce the German literature among us, it is 
not unusual to hear the most unqualified, indiscrim- 
inate opposition expressed to the study of a language 
of unequalled copiousness, flexibility and force, rich 
in every department of its literature, and entitled, in 
the opinion of the first European scholars, to an 
equal estimation with our own noble mother tongue. 
Yet we are rejoiced to discover, even in the bitter- 
ness of its opponents, an indication of the increasing 
interest with which it is regarded among us ; we 
are in no way disturbed by the fear that its subtleties, 
refinements and abstractions, should exert an evil 
influence on our national character, the individuality 
of which seems in no danger of being neutralized by 
such antagonist principles, though it may perchance 
be favorably modified by them. The Germans, it 
is true, have their faults ; but these faults, it has 
been well said, are as good as virtues to us, since 
being the exact opposites of our own, they may 
teach us most important lessons. 



52 GERMAN LITERATURE. 

The opposers of German literature are fond of 
preferring the claims of common sense to those of 
philosophy ; of elevating the actual over the ideal. 
They descant much and rather vaguely against 
Transcendentalism. They tell us of the folly of 
believing in innate ideas, and triumphantly quote 
Locke and his " tabula rasa." They are afraid of 
all vagueness and my sticism, and tremble like child- 
ren at the shadowy appearances seen in the twilight. 
They will have nothing to do with that which they 
cannot handle. They have faith in nothing which 
they cannot fully comprehend. They like to see 
all objects clearly and sharply defined in the broad 
day-light of the understanding. Yet in the shadowy, 
twilight regions of the imagination, we may behold 
much that is then only visible. The near glare of 
the sun conceals from us those far lights of heaven, 
that are forever binning in the vaults of space ; even 
as the acute shrill sounds of day prevent us from 
hearing the deep voices of nature. The Shekinah, 
which was by day only a cloud of smoke, became 
by night a pillar of fire. 

In literature, their favorite models are those writers 
who are most remarkable for clearness, polish, and 
precision. They seem to prefer vigorous, rather than 
comprehensive thinkers j — writers whose vision is 



GERMAN LITERATURE. 53 

clear but limited ; who deal manfully with facts and 
events, but care not to penetrate beyond the surface 
of being, showing us things as they are, without 
questioning of the how and why. They love to 
pace steadily and safely along with the " smooth 
tongued Addison, the stately Johnson, and the sub- 
lime Burke," never deviating from the beaten path, 
and looking upon all who go down in diving-bells, 
or mount in balloons, as hair-brained tempters of 
fate. 

They fear all new aspects of truth, and gravely 
tell us, that "it is better with our fallible natures 
and limited capacities, to rest upon certain ideas and 
opinions that have been received as plausible, re- 
jecting all speculations upon subjects which can 
never be decided, nor farther developed, while the 
soul remains in the thralls of flesh." 

Supposing a reflective mind could bring itself to 
act upon this suggestion, or rather to cease from 
acting, for ourselves we know of no opinions that 
have been universally received as " plausible," and 
did we know any such, we could not receive them 
as truths, until they had been submitted to the test 
of our own reason. Who shall tell us that any man 
or class of men have monopolized the right of 
thought ? What is truth to another is not truth to 
6* 



54 GERMAN LITERATURE. 

us until our own understanding has verified it. 
Whatever danger there may be in leaving every man 
to decide for himself, there is surely far less than in 
any attempt to restrict the individual right of opin- 
ion, through regard to expediency or respect for 
authority. 

We could not, if we would, have every man a 
philosopher, and we think there need be little fear, 
that our countrymen will become infected with any 
undue fondness for abstract researches. The mind 
that has never tried to grasp the great problems of 
human life and destiny, that has never sought to 
wrest a reluctant meaning from the hieroglyphic 
characters inscribed on the broad page of nature, 
needs no such restriction ; the mind that has done 
this, will hardly be checked in its onward impulse 
by the " cui bono " of the utilitarian. It sounds 
almost like mockery to ask one who has ever 
caught a single ray of the warm, living light of the 
sun of truth, to satisfy himself with the frippery, 
gilt-paper toy of " plausibility." These timid coun- 
sellors remind us of Solomon's slothful man, who 
keeps housed and says, " there is a lion in the street, 
if I go forth I shall be slain." There are some who 
cannot be thus easily restrained ; they must " go 
forth," even at the worst of perils — they must meet 



GERMAN LITERATURE. 55 

the lion, and wrestle with it as they may — and often 
do they find, that when they look their formidable 
foe calmly in the face, he loses all his terrors, and 
becomes at once harmless and tractable. 

These persons are constantly opposing revelation 
to nature, and faith to reason. We cannot agree 
with them in apprehending any danger to Christian- 
ity from the investigation of calm, tolerant, philo- 
sophic spirits, who fear not to look at both sides of 
a question, lest they should meet with something 
opposed to established and time-hallowed opinions. 
The timid faith that fears to question, cannot satisfy 
us, — such assent is far worse than honest denial. 
The only fatal skepticism, as it seems to us, is that 
of the man who wants faith in the human soul, and 
fears to trust its promptings. 

For ourselves, we rejoice in the increasing num- 
ber of those who are willing to follow truth wherever 
she may lead them, in the spirit of that child-like 
confidence and perfect love which casteth out fear. 
We look for the time when philosophy shall aid in 
reconciling reason and faith, not by depressing faith, 
but by elevating reason. When we shall be able to 
interpret, in all its beautiful simplicity, the word of 
Him who taught us to read the gospel of Nature, to 



56 GERMAN LITERATURE, 

observe the lilies of the field, and to seek for the 
kingdom of heaven within our own hearts. 

The enforcement of this self-reliance, this faith in 
the power of the individual to discover for himself 
truth, is one of the leading heresies of which the 
" New School " is accused. Yet the highest stars 
of heaven may be seen mirrored within the single 
drop of dew that trembles within the heart of a 
violet. 

This faith in truth and nature, this desire to free 
the mind from its slavery to creeds and convention- 
alities, though the growth of no particular school, 
has, it is true, within the last twenty years, been 
more profoundly felt and more earnestly inculcated, 
than at any former period. It gives a tone to all 
the noblest literature of the day, and is slowly but 
surely working a change in the character of the 
times. It is this which prompted the obnoxious 
declaration of Dr. Channing that " Man is great as 
man, be he what and where he may." This is 
what was implied by Emerson, when he said, " let 
a man plant himself on his instincts, and the whole 
world will come round to him," or in other words, 
work in harmony with him. It is this which illu- 
mines every page of Carlisle, as with the glory of 
an inspired scroll, and imparts to the apocalyptic 



GERMAN LITERATURE. 57 

reveries of Swedenborg whatever they possess of 
vivifying and converting energy. 

This doctrine, which was taught by a few sincere 
and simple spirits, amid the darkest gloom of Jewish 
superstition and bigotry, has caused one of the most 
true hearted believers of our own day to assert that 
the vital truths of Christianty are too deeply in- 
wrought into the very nature of the human soul to 
be in any danger from a free and zealous examina- 
tion into the true character of the Christian miracles. 
It is this growing conviction which is beginning to 
render all persecution for opinions sake as disgrace- 
ful as it ever was futile, and this it is, above all, 
which is teachiug the instructors and guardians of 
youth, that the great objects of education are not to 
be achieved by the exhibition of facts or the incul- 
cation of theories, but by developing and strengthen- 
ing the powers of the soul for individual and inde- 
pendent action. 

Much, though not all of this, is we think attributa- 
ble more or less directly to the Germans. Much 
that in our own literature is but faintly and dimly 
shadowed forth, is in this developing itself in free 
and luxuriant growth. In the German literature, to 
use one of their own expressive phrases, " man finds 
himself." The " sweet sad music of humanity" per- 



58 JEREMIAH AND BARUCH IN PRISON. 

vades every department of it. In its deep earnest 
philosophic spirit j in its fearless, trusting, transpa- 
rent simplicity ; in the holy fervor of its poets ; the 
serene, spiritual, far-reaching gaze of its theologians 
and moralists, we may find much which even the 
rich, classical literature of England cannot supply. 

To us, Germany has ever been a bright land of 
promise since first in early youth we listened with 
kindling heart and eager sympathy to the tidings 
which Mde. De Stael had brought us of a people, 
who in an age of artificiality, had dared to follow 
the suggestions of their own spirits and to show us 
nature as she had mirrored herself within their own 
hearts. And now, having possessed ourselves of the 
golden Key which is to unlock for us this rich world 
of thought, we cannot but glory in our new-found 
treasure, and endeavour to win others to become 
partakers of our joy. 



SUGGESTED BY ALLSTON'S PICTURE OF JEREMIAH 
AND BARUCH IN THE PRISON. 

BY SARAH S. JACOBS. 

A prisoner prince ! Each haughty limb 

Bespeaks thy high descent ; 
Nor can a dungeon's gloom bedim 

One noble lineament. 



JEREMIAH AND BARUCH IN PRISON. 59 

To fetter thee, did they not dare ? 
Thou can'st not be contented there 
A captive with that kingly air, 

Stern and magnificent. 
Thou listenest a lute to hear, 

Struck by some minstrel's skill ; 
Thou dreamest, — that strain so soft and clear 

Makes thee a monarch still. 
The dungeon is forgotton now, 
A smile illumines lip and brow, 
Again thy subjects round thee bow, 

Obedient to thy will. 

Methought there breathed upon my ear 

In low, deep strain, 
A greater than a King is here, 

Look thou again! 

A prisoner poet — thou the free, 

The impatient of control, — 
Of more than regal majesty, 
The majesty of soul ; — 
And must thou pining linger here 
Till grief her last indignant tear 
Has shed : while o'er thee, year by year, 
A captive's sorrows roll ? 
What by thy listening ear is heard ? 

What stirs thy poet heart ? 
Hath water's voice or note of bird 
In that deep dream a part ? 



Bl 



60 JEREMIAH AND BARUCH IN PRISON, 

Or musest thou some noble song, 
The story of thy bitter wrong, 
In hurrying tide to pour along, 
The triumph of thine art ? 

Then a whisper came — he dreameth not now 

Of wood or wave ; 
Nor his, the patriot's burning vow, 

His land to save. 

A prisoner prophet — thus at last 

Thy mission grand, I know ; 
Thine is no shadow of the past, 
Nor grasp of present woe, 
Thou man of destiny sublime 
Over whose mind's gigantic prime 
The surging waves of coming time 
Successive ebb and flow ; 
The summer sea is not more bright, 

The summer cloud more free 
Than thou, all radiant with the light 
Of conscious Deity. 
Around thee might the thunders peal y 
Beneath, the solid prison reel, 
Unbroken still thy spirit's seal, 
Unmoved thy gaze would be. 

# # * * * ■¥ 

It makes the gentle tears to fall, 
The tears that fall to bless ? 



MORAL SUBLIMITY ILLUSTRATED. 61 

Thy thoughtful face, oh, scribe, with all 
Its loving winningness. 
Passionless intellect alone 
Around the Prophet's form is thrown, 
And might untold ; — but all thine own 
Fair youth, the happiness 
To sit and listen and record 
Unnoticed by his side, 
And treasure every wondrous word, 
With reverence dignified ; 
Gazing, meanwhile with earnest grace 
Like some babe angel in the face 
Of seraph in the Holy place, 
With love and lowly pride* 



MORAL SUBLIMITY ILLUSTRATED. 

BY THE REV. FRANCIS WAYLAND, D. D. 

Philosophers have speculated much concerning 
a progress of sensation, which has commonly been 
denominated the emotion of sublimity. Aware 
that, like any other simple feeling, it must be 
incapable of definition, they have seldom attempted 
to define it ; but content with remarking the 
occasions on which it is excited, have told us that 
it arises, in general, from the contemplation of 
7 



62 MORAL SUBLIMITY ILLUSTRATED. 

whatever is vast in nature, splendid in intellect, or 
lofty in morals. Or, to express the same idea 
somewhat varied, in the language of a critic of 
antiquity, " that alone is truly sublime, of which 
the conception is vast, the effect irresistible, and the 
remembrance scarcely if ever to be erased." But 
although philosophers only, have written about this 
emotion, they are far from being the only men who 
have felt it. The untutored peasant, when he has 
seen the autumnal tempest collecting between the 
hills, and, as it advanced, enveloping in misty 
obscurity, village and hamlet, forest and meadow, 
has tasted the sublime in all its reality ; and, whilst 
the thunder has rolled and lightning flashed around 
him, has exulted in the view of nature moving 
forth in her majesty. The untaught sailor boy, 
listlessly hearkening to the idle ripple of the mid- 
night wave, when on a sudden he has thought upon 
the unfathomable abyss beneath him, and the wide 
waste of waters around him, and the infinite expanse 
above him, has enjoyed to the full, the emotion of 
sublimity, whilst his inmost soul has trembled at the 
vastness of its own conceptions. But why need I 
multiply illustrations from nature ? Who does not 
recollect the emotions he has felt, whilst surveying 
aught in the material world, of terror or of vastness ? 



MORAL SUBLIMITY ILLUSTRATED. 63 

And this sensation is not produced by grandeur in 
material objects alone. It is also excited on most 
of those occasions in which we see man tasking, to 
the uttermost, the energies of his intellectual or 
moral nature. Through the long lapse of centuries, 
who, without emotion, has read of Leonidas and 
his three hundred throwing themselves as a barrier 
before the myriads of Xerxes, and contending unto 
death for the liberties of Greece ! 

But we need not turn to classic story to find all 
that is great in human action j we find it in our 
own times and in the history of our own country. 
Who is there of us that even in the nursery has not 
felt his spirit stir within him, when with child-like 
wonder he has listened to the story of Washington ? 
And although the terms of the narrative were 
scarcely intelligible, yet the young soul kindled at 
the thought of one man's working out the deliver- 
rance of a nation. And as our understanding, 
strengthened by age, was at last able to grasp the 
detail of this transaction, we saw that our infantine 
conceptions had fallen far short of its grandeur. 
O ! if an American citizen ever exults in the 
contemplation of all that is sublime in human 
enterprise, it is when, in bringing to mind the men 
who first conceived the idea of this nation's inde- 



64 MORAL SUBLIMITY ILLUSTRATED. 

pendence, he beholds them estimating the power of 
her oppressor, the resources of her citizens, deciding 
in their collected might that this nation should be 
free, and through the long years of trial that ensued, 
never blenching from their purpose, but freely 
redeeming the pledge which they had given, to 
consecrate to it, " their lives, their fortunes and 
their sacred honor." 

It is not in the field of patriotism only that deeds 
have been achieved to which history has awarded 
the palm of moral sublimity. There have lived 
men, in whom the name of patriot has been merged 
in that of philanthropist ; who, looking with an eye 
of compassion over the face of the earth, have felt 
for the miseries of our race, and have put forth their 
calm might to wipe off one blot from the marred 
and stained escutcheon of human nature ; to strike 
off one form of suffering from the catalogue of 
human woe. Such a man was Howard. Survey- 
ing our world, like a spirit of the blessed, he beheld 
the misery of the captive, he heard the groaning of 
the prisoner. His determination was fixed. He 
resolved, single handed, to guage and to measure 
one form of unpitied, unheeded wretchedness, and ; . 
bringing it out to the sunshine of public observa- 
tion, to work its utter extermination.. And he well 



MORAL SUBLIMITY ILLUSTRATED. 65 

knew what this undertaking would cost him. He 
knew what he had to hazard from the infections of 
dungeons, to endure from the fatigues of inhospita- 
ble travel, and to brook from the insolence of legal- 
ized oppression. He knew that he was devoting 
himself upon the altar of philanthropy, and he wil- 
lingly devoted himself. He had marked out his 
destiny, and he hastened its accomplishment, with 
an intensity " which the nature of the human mind 
forbade to be more, and the character of the indi- 
vidual forbade to be less." Thus he commenced a 
new era in the history of benevolence. And hence 
the name of Howard will be associated with all 
that is sublime in mercy, until the final consumma- 
tion of all things. 

Such a man is Clarkson, who looking abroad, 
beheld the sufferings of Africa, and, looking at home, 
saw his country stained with her blood. We have 
seen him, laying aside the vestments of the priest- 
hood, consecrate himself to the holy purpose of res- 
cuing a continent from rapine and murder, and 
erasing this one sin from the book of his nation's 
iniquities. We have seen him and his fellow phi- 
lantropists for twenty years never waver from their 
purpose. We have seen them persevere amidst 
neglect, and obloquy, and contempt, and persecution, 



66 the baron's last banquet, 

until the cry of the oppressed, having roused the 
sensibilities of the nation, the " Island Empress" 
rose in her might and said to this foul traffic in hu- 
man flesh, thus far shalt thou come, and no farther. 



THE BARON f S LAST BANQUET. 

BY ALBERT G. GREENE. 

O'er a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, 

Where in his last strong agony a dying warrior lay, 

The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been 

bent 
By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent. 

" They come around me here, and say my days of life are 

o'er, 
That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no 

more ; 
They come, and to my beard they dare to tell me now, that I, 
Their own liege lord and master born, — that I, ha ! ha ! 

must die. 

And what is death ? I've dared him oft before the Paynim 

spear, — 
Think ye he's entered at my gate, has come to seek me here ? 
I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was 

raging hot, — 
I'll try his might — I'll brave his power ; defy, and fear him not. 



THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET. 67 

Ho ! sound the tocsin from my tower, — and fire the cul- 
verin, — 

Bid each retainer arm with speed, — call every vassal in, 

Up with my banner on the wall, — the banquet board pre- 
pare, — 

Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor 
there !" 

An hundred hands were busy then, — the banquet forth was 

spread, — 
And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread, 
While from the rich, dark tracery along the vaulted wall, 
Lights gleamed on harness, plume and spear, o'er the proud 

old Gothic hall. 

Fast hurrying through the outer gate the mailed retainers 

poured, 
On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around 

the board. 
While at its head, within his dark, carved oaken chair of 

state, 
Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate. 

" Fill every beaker up, my men, pour forth the cheering 

wine, 
There's life and strength in every drop, — thanksgiving to 

the vine ! 
Are ye all there, my vassals true ? — mine eyes are waxing 

dim ; — 



68 the baron's last banquet. 

Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the 
brim. 

Ye're there, but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty 

sword, — 
And let me hear your faithful steel clash, once around my 

board : 
I hear it faintly : — Louder yet f — What clogs my heavy 

breath ? 
Up all, — and shout for Rudiger, ' Defiance unto Death !' " 

Bowl rang to bowl, — steel clanged to steel, — and rose a 

deafening cry 
That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on 

high : — 
" Ho ! cravens, do ye fear him 1— Slaves, traitors ! have 

ye flown ? 
Ho ! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone ! 

But I defy him r — let him come ! n Down rang the massy 

cup, 
While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing halP 

way up ; 
And with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on 

his heady 
There in his dark, carved, oaken chair, Old Rudiger sat P 

dead,. 



69 



A VISIT TO NIAGARA. 

BY THE REV. FREDERICK A. FARLEY. 

One of the most delightful journeys which our 
country offers, is that which takes the traveller 
through some of the most fertile and beautiful 
regions of the state of New York, from its great 
Commercial Capital to the falls of Niagara. The 
picturesque and romantic shores of the Hudson — 
the wonderful region of Saratoga, where the entire 
soil seems to be underlaid with fountains of healing 
water of almost every variety — the rich valley of 
the Mohawk, presenting to the eye at every turn a 
view of exhaustless fertility and exquisite beauty — 
the remarkable gorge at Little Falls, where the 
various elements of mountain and river scenery, the 
deep ravine, the towering precipice, the craggy, 
overhanging cliffs, the huge masses of rock scattered 
and flung here and there as if in very sport by the 
rushing torrents which once broke through this 
narrow pass, and having worn their way along 
found an outlet below— Trenton, that spot of 
unrivalled beauty — the vast lakes which seem to 
open upon your astonished gaze, so far inland are 
you, like the great ocean itself — and finally that 



70 A VISIT TO NIAGARA. 

Great Cataract, which the world over is its chief 
wonder — all these, to say nothing of what human 
enterprise and skill have accomplished through this 
entire region, in rail-roads and canals, towns and 
villages, agriculture and manufactures, conspire to 
excite a deep enthusiasm in the mind of the beholder, 
to quicken and to exalt it. 

In the sublime description of the creation, in the 
book of Genesis, we read that " The Spirit of God 
moved upon the face of the waters." But may not 
the same language be applied to the whole of exter- 
nal nature ? Does not the soul amid its various 
scenes, whether on land or sea, by day or night, as 
it looks above, around, or beneath, feel that the 
Spirit of God is there ? 

In the sweet flow of the gentlest stream, winding 
way between the high banks, covered with verdure,, 
and flowering shrubs and vines trailing their 
branches in the water — or the rush of the nobler 
river along its deeper channel cut among lofty 
highlands, whose bases rest undisturbed amid its 
depths, and whose dark shadows project themselves 
over its surface ; — or the lofty mountain, bathing 
its altar peak in the clouds ; — within the black and 
tangled forest, whose rich foliaged arches and 
columns make it a fit cathedral for sublimest wor- 



A TISIT TO NIAGARA. 71 

ship ; or on the outspread, ever-rolling ocean, 
whether in the calm or in the storm, — always 
mighty, always vast, ever symbolizing the eternal ; 
in these, and in every varied scene of nature, may 
the mind of man recognise the all present Spirit of 
God. And to every mind thus attuned to this the 
loftiest inspiration which the contemplation of na- 
ture can awaken, ever fresh and delightful will be 
its varying visions, as they by turns come. 

But beyond and above all other objects in nature 
which I have over yet gazed upon, none has ever 
filled me with such an overpowering sense of the 
presence of God, as that of the Great Cataract of the 
west. I may not essay a description of that which 
the finest geniuses which have ever visited those 
stupendous Falls have shrunk from attempting, 
from a mere consciousness of inability to do any 
adequate justice to the subject — but simple gratitude 
to God, that 1 have been permitted to see this won- 
drous work of His hands, bids me attempt to express 
some of the emotions with which the sight filled 
me, and which, whenever felt, must make a visit to 
Niagara one of the holiest pilgrimages of life. 

I reached the Falls from below. That is, I 
coasted up the broad expanse of Lake Ontario, one 
of those great inland seas, in themselves among the 



72 A VISIT TO NIAGARA. 

wonders of our western hemisphere, and sailed up 
the river to Lewiston. Thence a short rail-road of 
fifteen miles takes you to the Falls. As the road 
lies in a great degree near the river, and sometimes 
upon the very brink of the beetling precipices which 
overhang it, the traveller is gradually prepared to 
behold in a right frame of mind the great object of 
his journey. The water is seen to be of a most 
peculiar and vivid green, of a hue which of itself 
forms one of the unsettled problems of the region — 
streaked here and there with foam, and broken into 
eddies and whirlpools ; while the banks gradually 
become more and more lofty, jagged and wild. 
The spray of the cataract, which we had observed, 
while on the lake before we entered the river, rising 
like a vast column of cloud in the early morning 
air, was now seen as the day advanced broken into 
ever-shifting and fantastic wreaths of mist, or light 
feathery clouds floating in and scattered by the sun. 
So perfectly in keeping seemed all the scenery as 
we approached the Falls, to what I had imagined of 
the Falls themselves, that notwithstanding the 
curiosity which every step of our progress made 
only the more intense, not one feeling of disappoint- 
ment for a moment cast its shadow over my soul, 
when at length I stood, a silent, rapt beholder of 



A VISIT TO NIAGARA. 73 

this i: wonder of the waters," as its name of Indian 
origin expressively denotes, 

** The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height 
Niagara cleaves the wave-worn precipice ; 

The fall of waters ! rapid as the light 

The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; 

" The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, 

And boil in endless torture; v/hile the sweat 

Of their great agony, wrung out from this 
Their Phlegethon curls round the rocks of jet 

That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, 

And mounts in spray the skies, and then again 

Returns in an unceasing shower, which round, 
With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, 

Is an eternal April to the ground, 
Making it all one Emerald : — how profound 

The gulf! and how the giant element 
From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound. 

Crushing the cliffs !" * 

The river in its descent from Lake Erie has be- 
come a noble stream of deep and crystal water of 
a mile in breadth, flowing on calmly towards the 
north — until, when nearly a mile above the Falls, it 

* Childe Harold, Canto IV. I have taken the liberty to substi- 
tute " Niagara" in the second line for " Velino." 

8 



74 A VISIT TO NIAGARA. 

begins to encounter vast ledges of submerged rocks, 
by which it is gradually disturbed, and soon ex- 
changes its soft and silvery smoothness for a rushing, 
roaring waste of waters. In its whole course thence 
to the Falls, it presents the appearance of the ocean 
lashed by a tremendous tempest — the foaming 
waves leap to an amazing height — mighty whirl- 
pools are formed — deep and shifting eddies — jets 
d'eaux of every graceful figure rise from the edges 
of rocks which lift their heads near or above the 
surface — and thus, broken and chafed, it rushes on 
with prodigious force and rapidity, and finally hurls 
its monstrous volume of waters into the abyss. 

In the midst of the wildest uproar of these won- 
drous rapids, there are the sweetest and most ro- 
mantic islets interposing their quiet and lovely ver- 
dure and foliage, in striking contrast with the con- 
fusion and din around them. While Iris* Island, 
covering an extent of more than forty acres, crowned 
with the primasval forest, flanks and overhangs the 
vast boiling gulf, and breaks the river in twain ; — 
thus forming on one side the Great American Fall, 
and on the other the Crescent, or Horse-Shoe Fall. 
A bridge of ingenious construction, passing directly 

* Or, Goat Island. 



A VISIT TO NIAGARA. 75 

over these rushing rapids to the length of six hun- 
dred and fifty feet, enables you to visit this island 
of most picturesque and surpassing beauty, and enjoy 
the various and sublime views which it offers of the 
rapids and the Cataract. 

I walked first to the American Fall, and looked 
from the piazza of a small building upon this scene 
of wonders. After a few minutes enjoyment of the 
magnificent coup d' ceil here presented, I went to 
the very brink of the Fall, and soon discovered just 
over the edge of the precipice a small projecting 
slab which might serve for a single foothold ; — step- 
ping upon this, and grasping firmly with my right 
hand a naked stump, among the shrubbery which 
grows upon the margin, I swung myself over, and 
gazed down, down, into the very gulf into which 
that vast mass of waters was rushing. When I re- 
turned to a firmer position upon the solid earth, I 
had no words for my emotions, and a tribute of 
tears alone gave them vent. 

The river, at the usual place of crossing just 
below the American Fall, is contracted between 
stupendous natural walls to the width of half a 
mile ; and as you are swept downward in your frail 
boat by the deep and strong current, you forget all 
danger amid the astonishing scenery which sur- 



76 A VISIT TO NIAGARA. 

rounds you. On your left and rear is the American 
Fall, nine hundred feet in breadth, and leaping one 
hundred and sixty feet perpendicularly into the 
abyss — its whole surface dyed and striped in ribands 
of every prismatic hue, throughout its entire descent. 
Above and before you, is the Grand Crescent, twenty- 
one hundred feet in breadth and about one hundred 
and seventy-five high — whose mighty fall lashes the 
pool beneath into a rich creamy foam, boiling like a 
gigantic cauldron — from which rises the spray in 
unceasing clouds, and upon which rainbows are 
painted in their most delicate and deepest tints ;— 
while midway across the cataract, the water seems 
in its descent to encounter here and there projecting 
ledges of rock, which throw out the spray at right 
angles, like volumes of smoke from the mouths of 
some ordnance hidden beneath. You are now beneath 
the most stupendous Cataract of the world ; and by 
the testimony of accomplished travellers who have 
climbed the Alps, the Himalaya, and the Pyramids, 
and visited every shore and every sea, before you is 
the chief wonder of, the most magnificent sight on 
earth. 

And I can truly say, that whencesover or at what- 
ever hour, I viewed them, " the Spirit of God" 
seemed to me moving " upon the face of those 



A VISIT TO NIAGARA. 77 

waters" — the one thought ever present to, ever 
forced upon my mind, at every turn, at every point 
of view, was — God ! Never did I feel so strikingly 
the littleness of man — never so thrillingly the 
presence of the Supreme ! Nor was it always in 
one attribute, or one class of attributes, and that of 
the more awful kind. For never was there a place 
where the beautiful and the sublime, the soothing 
and the terrible, were so blended. You cross upon 
a frail and trembling bridge an arm of the rapids, 
till you completely overlook from the projecting ter- 
mination of that daring structure the raging and 
foaming cauldron beneath — and you turn to the 
island which you have just left, and see all the 
witching romance of most sequestered streets, and 
the most perfect rural beauty. You prostrate your- 
self upon the brink of Table Rock, that you may 
send your gaze far under that beetling canopy of 
stone into the dim caverns behind and below — and 
the rainbow, spanning the abyss in remarkable 
entireness and beauty meets your delighted eye, and 
tells of hope and peace amid that wild tumult and 
terror. You descend to the edge of the gulf below 
— you creep along the slippery and insecure foot- 
path which leads far above it — you look upward, 
and the overhanging rock which shoots its tablet of 
8* 



78 A VISIT TO NIAGARA. 

stone far outward beyond you, seems just ready fo 
fall — you press on, till amid a blinding whirlwind 
and torrents of spray you pass " within the veil/' 
behind the Great Sheet of water where a single 
mis-step, or a moment's loss of self-command would 
hurl you into that roaring abyss, — but soon you 
emerge in safety, and discover skirting this very 
scene of terror the most striking displays of natural 
beauty — the sparkling of transparent waters in the 
sun — their pure and brilliant emerald as it passes the 
brink of the crescent glittering like an ever-forming 
and majestic gem, in beautiful contrast with the 
snowy whiteness of the foam around it — while in 
all directions the prismatic tints are shining clearly 
out. Thus God in His Power — and God in His 
Benignity and Love, meet you at every turn ! 

Nor is it by sight alone, that Niagara speaks to the 
soul of its all-present God. I have been at midnight, 
with no other light but that of the pale stars, and 
stood on the very verge of that mighty cataract. — 
All was indistinct to the eye. — save as its spectral 
foam was reflected in the dim starlight ; — but to the 
ear, and through that to the soul, how thrilling, how 
solemn and grand were its voices ! 

Miss Sedgwick, in one of her beautiful tales makes 
one of its youthful characters — as he stands upon 



A VISIT TO NIAGARA. 79 

Table Rock, where all had been hushed into silence 
by the magnificent vision before them — exclaim — 
" What is it, Mother, that makes us all so silent ?" 
The reply is in part in the sublime words of the 
sacred historian — " It is in the spirit of God moving 
upon the face of the waters !" It is in this new 
revelation to our senses of his power and majesty 
which ushers us, as it were, into His visible presence, 
and exalts our affections above language." Well, 
indeed, might man be hushed before that glorious 
manifestation of the presence of his maker, — and 
when he has mused in silence, until he has caught 
the full import of the wondrous scene, he will pros- 
trate his spirit in adoration and worship. 

Stupendous, however, as is Niagara — ever-flow- 
ing, unwearied, unexhausted in its career, as seems 
that wondrous cataract — symbol, as I have called it, 
of the Eternal — how clear is it, that there is another 
thought upon the subject quite as striking and true, 
Stupendous as it is, it will have an end. Ever-flow- 
ing as is that rushing torrent, it will yet be hushed 
and gone. Symbol of eternity as it now appears, 
the symbol will fade before the reality. Nay, while 
I write, I feel that to us it may be a symbol of some- 
thing of the deepest, personal interest ; — of Time, 
ever-flowing ; — and we, we, are upon its current ! 



80 MARTYRDOM OF ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL* 

To some of us, it may be, so calmly and gently are 
we gliding on, that its soft and mirror-like surface 
scarce seems to be floating us away ; but the rapids 
are before us, and each one in turn must pass, as do 
the successive drops which compose that mighty 
volume of waters,, into the dark, deep gulf ! How 
delighting, how cheering to the soul, that over that 
dark, deep gulf, has the Sun of Righteousness- 
lighted up the rainbow of Hope I 



FROM THE MARTYRDOM OF ST. PETER AND 

ST PAUL, 

BY THE REV. GEORGE BURGESS. 

* * * * # % 

Behold the forum's throng, the murmuring street, 
The bath, the bridge, the scenes where millions meet. 
Each land has exiles there, for none is free ; 
All loathe the lords, as all have bowed the knee. 
Numidia's swarthy son, subdued at length ; 
The blue-eyed German with his giant strength ; 
The graceful chiefs of some devoted host 
That bled to guard their Britain's lovely coast ; 
The crouching form where lurks a bitter heart 
That yet may teach how true the Parthian dart ; 
The Hebrew doomed a tenfold scorn to brook, 



MARTYRDOM OF ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 81 

A tenfold anguish writhing in his look ; 

All. all are here : nor theirs the pride to share, 

Waked by this pomp of famed, and grand, and fair : 

Their's but to plod the way of wily gain, 

Or curse the arts that forged and decked the chain. 

And wish one equal day one equal field, 

Where nought should win, but lance, and sword and shield. 

In joy returned from wars of distant lands, 
Marked by his scars, the legion's veteran stands ; 
The tall pretorian nods his helm of pride, 
The massy pavement ringing to his stride ; 
Solemn and slow, the stately priests ascend, 
In worship not their own to strike or bend ; 
The patient sculptor wakes to gradual view 
Ideal forms and dreams not all untrue ; 
The expecting crowd surround the patron's gate ; 
The morning chariot rolls in gilded state ; 
The light buffoon with idle jibe and jest, 
Scans the nerved athiet's mighty arm and chest ,* 
Morn warms with life the city's utmost vein, 
And every passion holds its wonted reign. 

% ♦ H= # sH % 

O'er the vast throng a brief, deep silence sank ; 
From the fallen prey astonished vengeance shrank ; 
Then, hoarse and faint, arose the heartless call, 
" So let the foes of Rome and Csesar fall !" 

Alone stood Simon : * * 

Round his torn limbs the sevenfold bands they wound, 



82 MARTYRDOM OF ST. PETER AND ST. PAUE, 

And his swollen forehead almost pressed the ground ;- 
They strained each cord, they cleft each gushing vein,. 
They plied each weapon of distracting pain : 
Each pang's, each torture's work, amazed they viewed., 
Each pang,, each torture pierced, but none subdued. 
But ere the hammer heaved its closing blow, 
Chill, chill and faltering rolled the life blood slow ; 
Ere half their bootless rage the torments spent, 
On angel wings the sweet release was sent. 

4 
****** 

And thou, who comest from thine own Northern land 
On Roman dust in memory's trance to stand, 
When thine enchanted feet have learned to stray 
Through all this classic waste of old decay ; 
Imperial halls half hid mid lowly vines, 
Fair imaged saints that smile o'er conquered shrines ; 
Arch far o'er arch, where moss and ivy grow, 
Columns that stood while empires fell below, 
The walks where fables morning shadows spread,. 
The graves and trophies of the mighty dead : 
When thou hast wandered arts impassioned slave, 
And owned what might to man the maker gave ; 
When o'er thy soul the spirit of the past 
All its thick cloud of solemn dreams hath cast, 
Then seek with me, some spot where fancy's eair 
The apostle martyr's echoing voice may hear £ 
And from that spot behold, behind, before, 
As round a rock, the sea of ages roar. 



THE VALUE OP LIBERAL STUDIES. 83 

Thou hast a bark to cross the stormy tide ; 

Thou too must follow, and perchance may'st guide : 

From first to last one sovereign power extends, 

And all the light the worth the glory blends ; 

It filled those breasts, it centered in that hour, 

It crowned that spot : knowest thou that sovereign power ? 

Hast thou not felt, oh ! feel its presence now. 

And hast thou felt, in meek devotion bow^: 

And when thy words, in home's delighted hall, 

The tale, the scenes, the dreams of Rome recall, 

Then be thou strong to walk where such have led 

Arm for the field where worthier bosoms bled ; 

And find thy bliss to see amidst thy sphere, 

In life, in death, the closing conquest near* 



ON THE VALUE OF LIBERAL STUDIES. 

EY WILLIAM G= GODDARD, 
Professor of Belles Lettres in Brown University. 

Liberal Studies are adapted not only to moderate 
an extravagant desire for wealth, but to aid in es- 
tablishing the true principles upon which wealth 
should be expended. In a country like our own, 
these principles, if well understood, are apt to be 
very imperfectly applied. The primitive stages in 
the progress of refinement we have long since passed. 



84 THE VALUE OF LIBERAL STUDIES. 

Leaving far in the rear the cheap pleasures, the 
simple habits, and the unpretending hospitalities of 
our forefathers, we have engaged, it is to be feared, 
somewhat too largely, in the career of ambitious 
splendor, and inappropriate magnificence. Impelled 
too often by the unworthy desire to surpass our 
neighbors, in some matter of mere external embel- 
lishment, we lavish thousands, in multiplying 
around ourselves the elements of an elegant and 
selfish voluptuousness. I am distressed by no 
morbid apprehensions concerning the progress of 
luxury in our land. I am terrified by no apparition 
of monopoly. I utter no response to the vulture 
cry of the Radical, now heard in the distance. I 
am far from thinking that the opulent ought to 
diminish their expenses. I believe that, with sig- 
nal advantage, they might increase them. But in 
the selection of those objects of embellishment 
which it is in the power alone of abundant wealth 
to command, I am not singular in contending that 
the decisions of a simpler and better taste ought not 
to be disregarded. Is it not a matter of just reproach, 
that of all the apartments in our mansion houses, 
the library is generally the most obscure, and often 
the most ill furnished ; and that the fashionable 
upholsterer is allowed to absorb so much of our 



THE VALUE OF LIBERAL STUDIES. 85 

surplus revenue, that hardly any is left for the 
Painter and the Statuary ? In all this, there is man- 
ifested a melancholy disproportion — an imperfect 
apprehension of some of the best uses to which 
wealth can be applied. In the spirit of an austere 
philosophy, it is not required that we should dispense 
with those costly ornaments which can boast no 
higher merit than their beauty : but it would bo 
hailed as a most benignant reform, if, in the 
arrangements of our domestic economy, there could 
be traced a more distinct recognition of the capaci- 
ties and destinies of man as an intellectual and 
moral being — as a being endowed with Imagination 
and Taste — with Reason and with Conscience. 
How few among us cultivate the Fine Arts ! How 
few understand the principles upon which they are 
founded — the sensitive part of our nature to which 
they are addressed ! To this remark, the imperfect 
knowledge of Music, which, in obedience to the 
authority of fashion, is acquired at the boarding 
school, forms no exception. It may still be affirmed, 
that we have among us no class who delight in 
Music as one of their selectest pleasures : who gaze 
with untiring admiration upon the miraculous 
triumphs of Painting ; who are filled with tranquil 
enthusiasm by the passionless and unearthly beauty 



86 THE VALUE OF LIBERAL STUDIES. 

of Sculpture. And is not this to be lamented ? Do 
we not thus estrange ourselves from sources of deep 
and quiet happiness, to which we might often resort 
for solace, and refreshment, and repose ? To these 
sources of happiness there is nothing in the nature 
of our political institutions, or of our domestic 
pursuits, which sternly forbids an approach. We 
have, it is true, no titled aristocracy ; and property 
does not, as in the land of our forefathers, accumu- 
late in large masses, and descend, undivided, through 
a long line of expectant proprietors. But there is 
scarcely a city, a town, or a village, in this land, 
■where some could not be found, blessed with every 
requisite but the disposition, to acquire a genuine 
relish for the fine arts. Nay, more — in our larger 
cities, all of which boast their commercial prosperity, 
and some their Athenian refinement, why should 
not the masters of the pencil and the chisel be 
employed to furnish for the private mansion those 
precious decorations, which alone are secure from 
the capricious despotism of fashion ? By thus 
expending some portion of their superabundant 
wealth, the opulent would drink deeply of those 
finer joys which are perversely left unapproached 
by the indolent, the voluptuous and the profligate. 
Thus, too, would they gather around themselves 



THE VALUE OF LIBERAL STUDIES. 87 

almost inexhaustible means of winning others from 
sordid pursuits, to the contemplation of the imper- 
ishable glories of Genius and of Art. 

t¥* TtF ^n? ^nF *7t* 

The value of Liberal Studies, in counteracting 
the influence of politics upon the individual and 
social character of our countrymen, deserves next 
to be considered. Politics is with us becoming 
a distinct, though not very reputable trade ; the 
strife for power is hardly less eager than the strife 
for gain ; a new code of political ethics has been 
established, for the accomplishment of pliant con- 
sciences ; and, almost without an exception, the 
public men of both parties, and of all parties, tired 
of waiting for popularity to run after them, are 
now eager to run after popularity. Who now so 
intrepid as to dare to take his stand, upon grave and 
well denned principles ? In these days of meek 
condescension to the will of the people, and of 
affected reverence for their good sense, how few 
care to lead public opinion aright ! how many 
pusillanimously follow it, when they know it to be 
wrong ! How few, alas ! will forego the vulgar 
trappings of office for the sustaining consciousness, 
that by no sacrifice of principle or of dignity, did 
they ever seek to win them ! I would fain believe 



88 THE VALUE OF LIBERAL STUDIES. 

that the days of the republic are not numbered ; 
but I am not without sad forebodings of her fate, 
when aspirants for popular favor are such utter 
strangers to the grace of an erect and manly spirit 
as to be solicitous rather to appropriate to themselves, 
at any cost, some transient distinction, than to 
await, with unfaltering rectitude and unforfeited 
self-respect, the judgments of coming times ; when 
the man of wealth, and talent, and social considera- 
tion, outstrips the Radical, in zeal for pestilent 
doctrines and mischievous projects ; in fine, when 
it is incorporated in the creed of the politician, that 
the people are always in the right ; in other words, 
that public opinion is not only the standard of taste, 

but the keeper of conscience f 

# # # # # 

Well might I be deemed an unfaithful advocate 
of Liberal Studies, if, in estimating their value, I 
yielded no tribute of applause to the solid provision 
which they make for independent individual happi- 
ness ; for that happiness which is enjoyed, not so 
much amid the hum and shock of men, as amid the 
solitude of Nature and of Thought. Living in a 
land where " men act in multitudes, think in mul- 
titudes, and are free in multitudes," we are constantly 
tempted to forget the mysterious individuality of 



THE VALUE OF LIBERAL STUDIES. 89 

our being j to go out of ourselves for materials of 
enjoyment ; to fritter away our sensibilities, and to 
debilitate our understanding, amid the false and 
hollow gaieties of the crowd. I contend for no 
severe estrangement from the joys of a chaste and 
elegant conviviality ; for no exclusive intercourse 
with forms of inanimate beauty ; for no fearful 
communion with the mysteries of the inner spirit. 
But I deprecate habits and tastes which are impa- 
tient of seclusion ; which destroy all true and 
simple relish for nature ; which scorn all quiet 
pleasures ; which abhor alike the composure and 
the scrutiny of meditation. As means of reforming 
tastes and habits thus uncongenial to virtue and 
to happiness, I can hardly exaggerate the importance 
of Liberal Studies. I ascribe to them, however, no 
power to teach rooted sorrow the lesson of submis- 
sion ; to succor virtue amid mighty temptations ; 
to dispel the awful sadness of the inevitable hour. 
These are the victories of Christian Faith ; the 
grand, and peculiar, and imperishable evidences of 
its power. But I challenge for Science and for 
Letters the noble praise of reclaiming us from the 
dominion of the Senses ; of lightening the burden 
of Care ; of stimulating within us the undying 
principles of the Moral Life. 
9* 



90 



DRESS. 

BY MRS. ELEANOR B. BURGES. 

Some men pretend that dress is only meant 

As a protection from the heat and cold ; 

In which some little vanity is blent, 

Which shows itself in jewels and in gold, 

Well, — let their worships think so — I'm content — • 

Tho' I another story shall unfold. 

If this be all, the Indians in their skin 

Of beast, the palm of wit and sense must win. 

Their woollen manufacturers are bears, 
Their colors lasting, " dyed when in the wool." 
Man gives the brute a stab, and then he tears 
His coat from off his back with one strong pull ; 
Better than broadcloth superfine it wears, 
And fits — tho' made without the tailor's rule. 
If it be true that dress is but a cover, 
This is the shortest method ten times over. 

And more becoming too, — for then it shows 
That man indeed is "Lord of the Creation," 
And gives him " l'air distingue." — Now his clothes 
But mix and mingle every rank and station ; 
That may have been the object — for who knows 
From cut or color, what's a man's vocation 1 
Black once belonged to priests and undertakers, 
But now 'tis worn by all men save the Qakers, 



DRESS, 91 

Women have long been laughed at — 'tis a shame ; 

I'm sure there's no occasion for a smile, 

If they endure it longer they are tame, 

For now they have been silent a great while. 

Of wit and moralist it is the aim 

Fair woman from this passion to beguile ; 

*' The vanity of dress" their ceaseless cry, 

While woman has dressed on without reply. 

But woman has a genius wondrous keen, 

She reads in dress what sages read in stars, 

She need not go beyond this world I ween, 

To learn of Fate or Destiny — which bars 

Or seems to bar us in. Much can be seen 

In millinery shops, which helps or mars 

The " March of Mind" — for upon Fashion's banner, 

New truths are written in a certain manner. 

Now I have come to my great proposition^ 
Dress is a hieroglyphic of the mind ! 
I do maintain against all opposition, 
Champollion in Egypt did not find 
So deep a mystery — -his supposition, 
For what I know, is learnedly refined. 
But for dark things we need not go to Egypt 
And look on marble temples or see crypt. 

No ! — if you wish a puzzle look on me ! 
Tell, if you can, why I wear this or that ? 
My coat, if I have one, is thus, you see, 



92 DRESS, 

And my cap so, and so my shoe and hat ; 

" It is the style" you say — why that may be ; 

But why such style ? you cannot tell, " that's flat.' 7 

Dress is the spirit of the age corporeal ! 

Sometimes 'tis "l'esprit solide," sometimes "gloriole.'' 

It was the fashion once as you all know. 

To wear stick heels and powder and brocade,. 

Now this was hieroglyphical to show 

The mind on stilts and formally arrayed 

In others' manufacture — all was so 

Stately and stiff; the mind and dress both made 

For courts and courtiers only to be used ; 

By common people both would be abused. 

Then simple thought and dress came in together 
In that Emporium of both " Belle France." 
The same age saw pomatum, powder, feather, 
And the Bastile demolished — at a glance, 
Toupees went off with heads. Now whether 
They thought them symbols, and that 'twould advance 
The cause of Freedom, thus to change the Fashion, 
I do not know ; but thus they long did dash on ! 

When Kings threw off their royal purple dress, 
Their majesty went too, with these externals, 
And their corporeal part became, I guess, 
What the conundrum has it. The diurnals 
Soon found, that in those ermine robes, no less 



DRESS. 93 

Than in the man, was royalty — the journals 
Made war on privilege, and shirts with ruffles, 
Which led to riots and to horrid scuffles. 

When they dethroned their rulers, then their hair 
Was " a la Brutus" — male and female head 
Both cropp'd — and Madame Tallien, the fair, 
Who lectured to the learned — when she read 
She dressed quite masculine, and had the air 
Of the most nolle sex, and all she said 
Was just like what she wore — which clearly shows 
She thought there was some meaning in her clothes. 

And when against the Turks rose up the Greeks, 
Why then all heads, we know, were " a la Grec." 
And this thing lasted, I believe, for weeks, 
And curls were flowing o'er each graceful neck 
For Greece and not for beauty ! He who seeks 
To know the hobby of the day, and spec- 
ulate on what is coming, need but know 
The latest Paris mode and what's " the go !" 

And thus you see, that Fashion is symbolical. 

It is an art, a science, quite profound ; 

Its characters are always metaphorical, 

In which the spirit of the Age is found, 

And, if you will not think me tautological, 

And in my words see less of sense than sound, 

I'll say again, that dress is hieroglyphical, 

And hats and caps and sleeves are ideographical ! 



94 



THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 

BY THE REV. JONATHAN MAXCY, D. D. 

The nobler part of man clearly evinces this great 
truth that there must be a God uncaused, independ- 
ent and complete. When we consider the boundless 
desires and the inconceivable activity of the soul of 
man, we can refer his origin to nothing but God. 
How astonishing are the reasoning faculties of man ! 
How surprising the power of comparing, arranging 
and connecting his ideas ! How wonderful is the 
power of imagination I On its wings, in a moment, 
we can transport ourselves to the most distant part 
of the universe. We can fly back, and live the lives 
of all antiquity, or surmount the limits of time, and 
sail along the vast range of eternity. * * * 

This great Being is every where present. He 
exists all around us. Wherever we turn, his 
image meets our view. We see him in the earth, 
in the ocean, in the air, in the sun, moon and stars. 
We feel him in ourselves. He is always working 
round us ; he performs the greatest operations, pro- 
duces the noblest effects, discovers himself in a 
thousand different ways, and yet the real God re- 
mains unseen. All parts of creation are equally 



THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 95 

under his inspection. Though he warms the breast 
of the highest angel in heaven, yet he breathes life 
into the meanest insect on earth. He lives through 
all his works, supporting all by the word of his 
power. He shines in the verdure that clothes the 
plains, and the lily that delights the vale, and the 
forest that waves on the mountain. He supports the 
slender reed that trembles in the breeze, and the 
sturdy oak that defies the tempest. Far in the wil- 
derness, where human eye never saw, where the 
savage foot never trod, there he bids the blooming 
forest smile, and the blushing rose open its leaves to 
the morning sun. There he causes the feathered 
inhabitants to chant their wild notes to the listening 
trees and echoing mountains. There nature lives 
in all her wanton wildness. From the dark stream 
that rolls through the forest, the silver-scaled fish 
leap up, and dumbly utter the praise of God. 
Though man remains silent, yet God will have 
praise. * * * 

When you survey this globe of earth, with all 
its appendages ; when you behold it inhabited by 
numberless ranks of creatures, all moving in their 
proper spheres, all verging to their proper ends, all 
animated by the same great source of life, all sup- 
ported at the same great bounteous table ; when you 



96 TO THE AUTUMN FOREST. 

behold not only the earth, but the ocean and the air 7 
swarming with living creatures, all happy in their 
situation j when you behold yonder sun, darting a 
vast blaze of glory over the heavens, garnishing 
mighty worlds, and waking ten thousand songs of 
praise ; when you behold unnumbered systems dif- 
fused through vast immensity, clothed in splendor, 
and rolling in majesty ; when you behold these 
things, your affections will rise above all the vanities 
of time ; your full souls will struggle with extacy,' 
and your reason, passions and feelings, all united, 
will rush up to the skies, with a devout acknowledg- 
ment of the existence, power, wisdom and goodness 
of God. Let us behold him, let us wonder, let us 
praise and adore. These things will make us happy. 
They will wean us from vice, and attach us to 
virtue. 
1795. 



TO THE AUTUMN FOREST. 

BY WILLIAM J. PABODIE. 

Resplendent hues are thine ! 
Triumphant beauty — glorious as brief! 
Burdening with holy love the heart's pure shrine, 

Till tears afford relief. 



THE AUTUMN FOREST. 97 

What tho' thy depths be hushed I 
More eloquent in breathless silence thou, 
Than when the music of glad songsters gushed 

From every green-robed bough. 

Gone from thy walks the flowers ! 
Thou askest not their forms thy paths to fleck ';— - 
The dazzling radiance of these sunlit bowers 

Their hues could not bedeck. 

I love thee in the Spring, 
Earth-crowning forest ! when amid thy shades 
The gentle South first waves her odorous wing, 

And joy fills all thy glades. 

In the hot Summer time, 
With deep delight thy sombre aisles I roam, 
Or, soothed by some cool brook's melodious chime, 

Rest on thy verdant loam. 

But O, when Autumn's hand 
Hath marked thy beauteous foliage for the grave, 
How doth thy splendor, as entranced I stand, 

My willing heart enslave ! 

I linger then with thee, 
Like some fond lover o'er his stricken bride ; 
Whose bright, unearthly beauty tells that she 

Here may not long abide. 
10 



98 CENTENNIAL DISCOURSE ON THE 

When my last hours are come, 
Great God ! ere yet life's span shall all be filled. 
And these warm lips in death be ever dumb, 

This beating heart be stilled, — 

Bathe thou in hues as blest — 
Let gleams of Heaven about my spirit play ! 
So shall my soul to its eternal rest, 

In glory pass away ! 



FROM A DISCOURSE, 

DELIVERED ON THE SECOND CENTENNIAL ANNIVERSARY Or 

THE SETTLEMENT OF PROVIDENCE. 

BY THE HON. JOHN PITMAN. 

It was in the summer of 1636, that Roger Wil- 
liams, banished from Massachusetts, and warned by 
the friendly voice of the Governor of Plymouth, 
sought an asylum beyond the territories of Christian 
men. Forsaking his plantation at Seekonk, he 
embarked on the Pawtucket, approaching the west- 
ern shore, was greeted with the friendly vjhatcheer 
of the natives, and doubling the southern promon- 
tories directed his little bark where a beautiful cove 
received the waters of the Moshassuck. Here he 
landed j beneath the forest boughs, and beside a 



SETTLEMENT OF PROVIDENCE. 99 

crystal spring, he sought refreshment and repose ; 
here he offered up his thanks to God, that when the 
hearts of his civilized brethren were alienated, he 
had found sympathy, protection and sustenance from 
the rude children of nature j and here in the thank- 
fulness of his heart for past mercies, and full of pious 
hope for the future, he fixed his abode and named 
it Providence. The spring remains and sends forth 
its refreshing waters, the only local memorial of the 
place of his landing and settlement. The principle 
remains which brought him hither, unimpaired by 
time, its truth tested and enforced by the experience 
of two hundred years, and now constituting, not 
the reproach of a small, despised, and persecuted 
colony, but the glory and happiness of millions of 
freemen. 

To commemorate this event, to honor this founder, 
to dwell on some passages of our history which 
may help us to appreciate the perils, toils, and suf- 
ferings of the Narragansett pilgrims, to discharge a 
portion of that debt which is due to the memory of 
our worthy ancestors, to cherish those principles 
which have made us what we are, and which we 
hope to transmit as their best inheritance to posterity 
— for these high purposes we are here assembled. 

The dimensions of our State are humble ; the 



100 CENTENNIAL DISCOURSE ON THE 

politician of the day, in his estimate of relative 
power, regards us as of small account ; but in the 
history of mind, in the progress of intellectual and 
moral excellence, what is there, from the dawn of 
the reformation, unto the present day, of more im- 
portance than the principle which gave birth to our 
State, and has pervaded all our institutions ? 

We celebrate annually the birth day of our inde- 
pendence, and long may we continue to celebrate it, 
not because we should delight in the story of wrong 
and outrage, of battles fought and battles won ; but 
because it tells the price of freedom, and shows how 
dearly it was purchased. But of what value is inde- 
pendence ? Why rejoice that we have broken a 
foreign yoke, if it should only prepare us for a do- 
mestic yoke of greater oppression. Unless our 
liberty is preserved, the story of the revolution would 
only cause us to lament that so much blood had 
been shed, and so much suffering endured in vain. 
It is liberty which gives to our annual celebrations 
their greatest charm, their best propriety. It is that 
true liberty may be well understood, and duly appre- 
ciated, that lessons of wisdom may, on this day, be 
inculcated, that they may be enforced by examples 
of heroism and patriotism which abounded in those 
glorious, days of our republic — it is for these great 



SETTLEMENT OF PROVIDENCE. 101 

ends, that this day should be commemorated, from 
age to age, by all that can impress the youthful mind, 
or animate and purify maturer years. 

If, then, liberty is the charm which awakens all 
hearts, shall we forget him who proclaimed, and suf- 
fered for proclaiming a principle which is the corner 
stone of freedom, and who made it the basis of our 
State ? a principle without which perfect civil liberty 
cannot long exist, and the existence of which will 
ultimately destroy tyranny in church and state ? 

Civil liberty may exist to a certain extent without 
religious liberty ; but where religious liberty exists, 
her triumph insures the triumph of civil liberty. 
Destroy the hierarchy and you have removed the 
firmest support of the throne ; if the throne con- 
tinues, it must be filled, not by an arbitrary monarch, 
but a constitutional king, who executes the will of 
the people. 

Look at the history of despotism, and you will 
find a two-fold cord has bound the human race. 
Force has enslaved the body, and superstition the 
mind. What but this has prevented, in our day, the 
regeneration of Spain and Portugal ? And what 
but this has deformed the history of South- American 
liberty and independence ? The mind, free to act 
upon religious topics, unawed by councils, popes, or 
10* 



102 CENTENNIAL DISCOURSE ON THE 

prelates, wiU not acknowledge the divine, or, in 
modern phrase, the legitimate right of kings. It 
was for this reason that the reformation accomplished 
so much for civil liberty, and that the puritans of 
England were the great reformers in church and 
state.* 

How long would the principles of the reformation 
have continued if the principle of Roger Williams 
had not been engrafted upon them ? The pope was 
quite as good a head of the church as Henry the 
eighth ; quite as tolerant as Elizabeth, or James the 
first. The yoke of the Lords Bishops, of England, 
was not more intolerable than the dominion of the 
Lords brethren of Massachusetts. 

Take the most liberal sect among us, and give it 
dominion over all others, make it the religion of the 
State, give it patronage, and tythes from the pro- 
perty of all, and how long would it be before fit in- 
struments would be found to conspire against our 
civil liberties, or a people servile enough to wear the 
chains of imperial and ecclesiastical bondage ? 

* " So absolute, indeed, was the authority of the crown, that 
the precious spark of liberty had been kindled, and was preserved 
by the puritans alone ; and it was to this sect, whose principles 
appear so frivolous, and habits so ridiculous, that the English owe 
the whole freedom of their Constitution." — Hume's England, chap, 
40, Elizabeth's reign. 



SETTLEMENT OF PROVIDENCE. 103 

Many fear that they behold already, among us, the 
signs of political degeneracy, in the influence of that 
patronage which extends to every village of the 
Union ; but if you should add to this a permanent 
power to feed the bodies, and sway the souls of men, 
how long, think you, we should celebrate, with the 
spirit of freemen, the anniversary of our indepen- 
dence, or take any pleasure in perpetuating the evi- 
dences of our degeneracy ? 

I say, then, and without fear of contradiction from 
those who give it due reflection, that the principle 
of liberty of conscience, which was first promulgated 
in Massachusetts by Roger Williams, which he 
boldly maintained before all their magistrates and 
ministers, and which, driven from thence, he brought 
to these shores, and made the inheritance of our 
children — that this principle is of more consequence 
to human liberty than Magna Charta, and consti- 
tutes, of itself, a bill of rights which practically 
secures the enjoyment of all. 

What honors, then, should cluster around his 
name, who, in an age when the most enlightened 
failed to perceive the simple and majestic proportions 
of this great truth, perceived it with a clearness, and 
illustrated it with a force, to which no succeeding 
age has added, and which now constitutes so much 



104 TO A SMILING INFANT. 

of the freedom and happiness of our common coun- 
try. If we cannot compare with our sister States 
in the empire of matter, we may venture to compare 
with them in the empire of mind, and challenge 
them to produce a principle, in their settlement or 
progress, more vital than this to the perpetuation of 
our liberties. * * * # 



TO A SMILING INFANT. 

BY SAMUEL W. PECKHAM. 

" Pibi semper sine nubibus aether 
Integer, et large diffuso lumine ridat." — Lucretius. 

" A penny for your thoughts," fair child f 

A penny ! aye, I'd part 
With countless treasures, could I read 

The secrets of that heart ; 
Could I but feel the careless joy 

That fills thy laughing eyes, 
And know the gay imaginings 

That o'er thy fancy rise- 

I've pondered o'er the classic tomes 

Of Roman and of Greek, 
Intent through an illusion dark, 

Some hidden truth to seek ; 



TO A SMILING INFANT. 105 

And as its light with thrilling power 

Flashed from the beaming line, 
A rapture which the scholar's life 

Alone imparts, was mine. 

But oh, 't were bliss beyond compare, 

To read on infant thought 
The pure impress of God's own truth, 

Ere sin its blight has wrought ; 
To see its power to fill the soul 

With unalloyed delight, 
And throw o'er fancy's magic screen 

Forms of the pure and bright. 

Smile on, smile on, though vain the wish, 

May'st thou for aye, as now, 
Unsullied keep the stamp of truth 

Upon thine open brow, 
Still may the joyous laugh speak out 

Unclouded from thine eyes, 
Till Heaven reclaims its errant guest, 

And takes thee to the skies. 



106 



THE CHURCHES OF NEW-ENGLAND. 

BY THE REV. EZRA STILES, D. D.* 

Let the great errand into America never be for- 
gotten. Let our children be made well acquainted, 
among other parts of sacred history, with the 
history of the Hebrew nation ; in which they will 
see examples of public reward and public chastise- 
ment of providence in a very striking light. From 
the ancient example let our churches be warned, 
very carefully to avoid the two capital errors which 
proved the ruin of the Hebrew republic, and which 
will never fail eventually to subvert the best con- 
stituted empire — I mean corruption in religion and. 
the publie virtue ; and disunions. 

I have observed that our churches, in a distin- 
guished sense from almost all the protestant world 
are founded on the Bible. Our worthy and venera- 
ble ancestors, (be their memories dear to posterity) 
did not, like other protestant patrons, form a system 
of what they thought and judged to be the true 
sense of revelation, and establish this for the truth ; 
no — it was enough for them that the Bible was the 
inspired rule, and this they made the only rule. 

*Note 2. — See Appendix. 



THE CHURCHES OF NEW-ENGLAND. 107 

And hence, if on examination we should find any 
of the received doctrines or usages among the 
churches, dissonant to the sacred oracles, — if we 
only judge so,— if this on deliberation be our 
opinion, we may freely enjoy and profess our judg- 
ment and oppose such doctrines or customs by 
alleging from the scriptures only • without appealing 
to human tests of divine truth, or encountering the 
civil and ecclesiastical hostilities with which they 
have been too generally enforced. 

The present bounds of New England, the greater 
part of which is yet a wilderness, permit an increase 
of seven millions. If Providence should complete 
the reduction of Canada and an honorable peace 
annex it to the British crown, we may extend our 
settlements into new provinces, or to the western 
part of those provinces which by the charters cross 
the continent to the Pacific ocean. With pleasure 
we anticipate the rapid settlement of new towns 
and provinces around us, and filling them up with 
millions of inhabitants. We transport ourselves to 
the distance of a hundred years forward, look over 
the wide spread wilderness, see it blossom like the 
rose, and behold it planted with churches and 
temples consecrated to the pure worship of the 
most High— when our present plain edifices shall 



108 MAN WAS NOT MADE TO MOURN. 

be succeeded with a nobler species of building not 
indeed with temples whose colonades are decked 
with the gilt busts of angels winged ; but temples 
adorned with all the decent ornaments of the most 
sublime and august architecture — when divinely 
resplendent truth shall triumph, and our brethren of 
the congregational communion may form a body of 
seven millions ! A glorious and respectable body 
this, for Truth and Liberty. Well might our 
fathers die with pleasure, and sacrifice their lives 
with joy to lay the foundation of such a name, of 
such a peculiar people whose numbers so soon 
increase like the sand of the sea, or the stars of 
heaven, and what is more, whose God is the Lord. 
1760. 



« MAN WAS" NOT " MADE TO MOURN." 

BY THOMAS C. HARTSHORN. 

Tune to joy the sprightly measure, 

Utter not a note of woe, 
Give a loose to mirth and pleasure, 

Bid the generous feeling flow. 
Lo ! the bounties of creation 

To whatever side we turn, 
Still convey this intimation, 

Man was never made to mourn. 



PLAN FOR A NATIONAL UNIVERSITY. 109 

Flowers that deck the earth with glory, 

Birds that warble in the grove. 
Tell the same unvaried story 

Of our great Creator's love. 
This should clear the heart of sadness 

And to pure devotion raise, 
Sorrow is ungrateful madness, 

Cheerfulness is silent praise. 

Though the clouds of dark despair 

Often gather round the soul, 
Mirth should scatter them in air 

And dispense its sweet control. 
While the bounteous hand of Heaven 

Pours its gifts from plenty's horn, 
Though some transient ties are riven, 

Grateful hearts should briefly mourn. 



PLAN FOR A NATIONAL UNIVERSITY. 

BY THE HON. ASHER ROBEINS. 

An Institution, I conceive, may be devised, of 
which, at present there is no model either in this 
country or in Europe ; giving such a course of 
education and discipline as would give to the 
faculties of the human mind an improvement 
11 



110 PLAN FOR A NATIONAL UNIVERSITY. 

and power far beyond what they obtain by the or- 
dinary systems of education ; and far beyond what 
they afterwards attain in any of the professional 
pursuits. Such an Institution, as to its principle, 
suggested itself to the sagacious and far-seeing mind 
of Bacon, as one of the greatest importance. But 
while his other suggestions have been followed out 
with such wonderful success in extending the boun- 
daries of physical science, this has been overlooked 
and neglected. One reason is, that the other sug- 
gestions were more elaborately explained by him ; 
there, too, he not only pointed out the path, but he 
led the way in it himself. Besides, those other sug- 
gestions could be carried out by individual exertion 
and enterprise, independently of the existing estab- 
lishments. But this required an original plan of 
education, and a new foundation for its execution ; 
where the young mind would be trained by a course 
of education and discipline that would unfold and 
perfect all his faculties ; where the genius would 
plume his young wings, and prepare himself to take 
the noblest flights. The idea, however, was not 
entirely original with Bacon ; for it would be in 
effect but the revival of that system of education 
and discipline which produced such wonderful im- 
provement and power of the human mind in Greece 



PLAN FOR A NATIONAL UNIVERSITY. Ill 

and Rome, and especially in Greece. Its effects 
here, I am persuaded, would be many and glorious. 
Of these I shall now indicate only one ; but that 
one whose importance all must admit. In its pro- 
gress, and ultimately, it would give to our country, I 
have no doubt, a national literature of a high and 
immortal character. However mortifying to our 
national pride it is to say it, it must be confessed 
that we have not a national literature of that cha- 
racter ; nor is it possible we ever should have, as it 
appears to me, on our present systems of education. 
Not that our literature, such as it is, is inferior to 
that of other nations produced at the present day. 
No j mediocrity is the character of all literary works 
of the present day, go where you will. It is so in 
England, it is so in France, the two most literary 
nations of Europe. It is true, learned men and great 
scholars are every where to be found ; indeed, they 
may be said to abound more than ever ; the whole 
world has become a reading world ; the growth of 
the press is prodigious ; but it is all ephemeral and 
evanescent — all destined to the grave of oblivion. 
Nor is it that our countrymen have not the gift of 
genius for literary works of that high and immortal 
character. Probably no people were ever blessed 
with it in a greater degree — of which every where 



112 PLAN FOR A NATIONAL UNIVERSITY. 

we see the indications and the evidence ; but what 
signifies genius for an art without discipline, with- 
out knowledge of its principles and skill in that art ? 

" Vis consili expcrs, mole ruit sua ; 
Vim temperatam, Dii quoque provehunt, 
In majus." 

Literature is now every where mediocre — because 
the arts of literature are no where cultivated, but 
every where neglected — and apparently despised. 

The object of education is two-fold, knowledge 
and ability ; both are important, but ability by far 
the most so. Knowledge is so far important as it 
is subsidiary to the acquiring of ability, and no 
further ; except as a source of mental pleasure to 
the individual. It is ability that makes itself to be 
felt by society ; it is ability that wields the sceptre 
over the human heart and the human intellect. It 
is a great mistake to suppose that knowledge imparts 
ability of course. It does indeed impart ability of a 
certain kind ; for oy exercising the attention and the 
memory it improves the capacity for acquiring ; but 
the capacity to acquire is not ability to originate and 
produce. No ; ability can only be given by the 
appropriate studies, accompanied with the appro- 
priate exercises — directed by a certain rule, and con- 
ducting infallibly to a certain result. 



PLAN FOR A NATIONAL UNIVERSITY. 113 

In all the celebrated schools of Athens, this was 
the plan of education j and there the ingenuous 
youth blessed with faculties of promise, never failed 
to attain the eminence aspired to, unless his perse- 
verance failed. Hence the mighty effects of those 
schools ; hence that immense tide of great men 
which they poured forth on all the departments of 
science and letters ; and especially of letters ; and 
hence, too, the astonishing perfection of their works. 
A celebrated writer, filled with astonishment at the 
splendor as well as the number of the works pre- 
duced by the scholars of these schools, ascribes the 
event to the hand of a wonder-working Providence, 
interposed in honor of human nature, to show to 
what perfection the species might ascend. But there 
was nothing of miracle in it ; the means were ade- 
quate to the end. It is no wonder at all that such 
schools gave to Athens her Thucydides in history, 
her Plato in ethics ; Sophocles to her drama, and 
Demosthenes to her forum and her popular assem- 
blies ; and gave to her besides, that host of rivals 
to these and almost their equals. It was the natural 
and necessary effect of such a system of education ; 
and especially with a people who held, as the Athe- 
nians did, all other human considerations as cheap 
in comparison with the glory of letters and the arts. 




114 PLAN FOR A NATIONAL UNIVERSITY. 

It is true, this their high and brilliant career of 
literary glory was but of short duration ; for soon 
as it had attained its meridian blaze, it was suddenly 
arrested, for the tyrant came and laid the proud 
freedom of Athens in the dust, and the Athenians 
were a people with whom the love of glory could 
not survive the loss of freedom. For freedom was 
the breast at which that love was fed ; freedom was 
the element in which it lived and had its being ; 
freedom gave to it the fields where its most splendid 
triumphs were achieved. The genius of Athens 
now drooped ; fell from its lofty flights down to 
tame mediocrity — to ephemeral works born but to 
languish and to die ; and so remained during the 
long rule of that ruthless despotism — the Macedo- 
nian ; and until the Roman came to put it down, 
and to merge Greece in the Roman Empire. Athens 
now was partially restored again to freedom. Her 
schools which had been closed, or which had ex- 
isted only in form, revived with something of their 
former effect. They again gave forth some works 
worthy of her former fame, though of less trans- 
cendent merit ; and they now gave to Rome the 
Roman eloquence and literature. 

Grsecia capta serum Victorem cepet, et artes 
Intulet agresti satis : 



PLAN FOR A NATIONAL UNIVERSITY. 115 

and, if we are wise to profit by their example, may- 
yet give to us an equal eloquence and literature. 

I mention these things to show what encourage- 
ment we have to this enterprise — what well-grounded 
hope of success. We have only to tread the path 
that led the Athenian to his glory, and to open that 
path to the youth of our country. All the animating 
influences of freedom exist here in still greater force 
than they existed there ; for, while it is not less 
absolute here, it is better regulated — better combined 
with order and security. Neither is the gift of 
genius wanting here ; the gleams of this precious 
ore are seen to break out here and there all over the 
surface of our society ; the animus acer et sublimis 
is daily displayed by our countrymen in all the forms 
of daring and enterprise ; the Eagle, their emblem, 
is not more daring in his flights. And if the love 
of fame, which was the ruling passion of the Greek, 
is not now so strong with us, it is because the want 
of the means, the want of plain and sure directions 
for its pursuits, begets a despair of its attainment. The 
Greek had these means, had these plain and sure 
directions ; and it was the certainty of success by per- 
severance and by their guide that kindled and sus- 
tained his passion and made it his ruling passion. 
This passion is now burning in the young bosoms 



116 OLD GRIMES. 

of thousands of our youth ; but it is, as I have 
said, vis consili expers, and struggles in vain because 
it struggles blindly for the fame it pants after. Let 
this Athenian mode of education be adopted in this 
instance* — let it produce but a few examples of emi- 
nent success, and thousands would rush to the path 
that had led to that success ; and there are many 
among us yet young enough to see a new era arising 
in our land — another golden age of literature, no 
less splendid than any that has gone before it — not 
excepting even the Athenian. 



OLD GRIMES. 

BY ALBERT G. GREENE. 

Old Grimes is dead ; that good old man 
We never shall see more : — 

He used to wear a long, black coat 
All buttoned down before. 

His heart was open as the day, 
His feelings all were true ; 

His hair was some inclined to grey, 
He wore it in a queue. 

^Referring to the Smithsonian bequest. 



OLD GRIMES. 117 



Whene'er he heard the voice of pain, 
His breast with pity burned ; 

The large, round head upon his cane 
From ivory was turned. 

Kind words he ever had for all ; 

He knew no base design : 
His eyes were dark and rather small, 

His nose was acquiline. 

He lived at peace with all mankind. 

In friendship he was true : 
His coat had pocket holes behind* 

His pantaloons were blue* 

Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes 

He passed securely o'er, 
And never wore a pair of boots 

For thirty years or more* 

But good old Grimes is now at rest, 
Nor fears misfortunes frown : 

He wore a double-breasted vest ; 
The stripes ran up and down. 

He modest merit sought to find, 

And pay it its desert ; 
He had no malice in his mind, 

No ruffles on his shirt. 



118 



ON NOVEL WRITING. 



His neighbors he did not abuse, 

Was sociable and gay ; 
He wore large buckles on his shoes, 

And changed them every day. 

His knowledge, hid from public gaze, 
He did not bring to view, — 

Nor make a noise, town-meeting days 2 
As many people do. 

His worldly goods he never threw 
In trust to fortune's chances ,* 

But lived, (as all his brothers do,) 
In easy circumstances. 

Thus undisturbed by anxious caresj 

His peaceful moments ran ; 
And every body said he was 
A fine old gentleman. 



ON NOVEL WRITING. 

BY MRS. JULIA CURTIS. 

Although we fully appreciate the various styles 
of novel-writing which belong to the present age, 
yet, we give the preference to the smoothly told 
tale, which bears the impress of nature, and leads 
the imagination gradually on with the skill of a 



ON NOVEL WRITING. 119 

narrator, whose impassioned feeling is gracefully 
controlled. Those works which abound in passion- 
ate starts, in wild and unnatural impulses and 
incidental sketches of love-lorn damsels and disap- 
pointed artists, though they may possess passages of 
striking beauty, are infinitely less perfect than the 
rational, though highly wrought relations indited by 
greater minds. 

Nor do we hesitate to assert that no other than 
the highest order of intellect, can produce tales 
resplendent with natural beauty ; for it is much 
easier to write a rhapsody, than a true and vivid 
description, and less difficult to depict the disjointed 
ravings of madness, than to trace the upward pro- 
gress of a reasoning and philosophic mind. Any 
one can fancy sources of excitement which may 
influence the villain or the maniac ; but few can 
analyze the deep stirrings of the pure and high- 
minded, or the darker workings of the every day 
hypocrite. It requires an accurate knowledge of 
human nature, united to a keen and reflective mind, 
to do this ; and as few possess these properties in 
connexion with the imagination, requisite for the 
accompanying plot, such romances are rare. Greater 
genius is displayed in depicting the stern determina- 
tion of Balfour of Burley, and the subtlety of 



120 ON NOVEL WRITING. 

Rashleigh Osbaldistone, than the open villainy of 
Paul Clifford, or the haughty reserve of Eugene 
Aram. To these last novels, however, we would 
accord great praise. Their author is a man of 
brilliant thought, and admirable powers of language, 
But his works want nature. Human nature as it 
usually exists, presents a more difficult prototype 
for the artist, than its occasional distortions. The 
one requires a common imagination, the other, 
uncommon observation. It is with the novelist as 
with the landscape-painter. The latter knows that 
the hues of the sky and his own colors are often- 
times the same : but to arrange his ingredients so as 
to present the varied and exquisite shades in nature, 
to blend each harmoniously with the other, so as to 
strike the beholder as natural, demands surpassing 
skill. Thus the man of lively fancy and ordinary 
abilities, can lay before us an imaginative tale, 
brilliant but inconsistent, fascinating but anomalous, 
a mass of possibilities, but utterly deficient in truth 
and discrimination. Let us not be understood, 
however, as advocating a suppression of the imagina- 
tion for the sake of practical good sense. We 
consider the latter as tame and uninteresting, unat- 
tended by the former. We approve of beautiful 
theories and poetical dreams ; and of souls almost 



ON NOVEL WRITING. 121 

bursting with their proud and generous aspirations. 
These tend to elevate us above the stern realities 
of life. Though, visionary, they may be so beauti- 
fully interwoven with the coarse warp of our 
natures, as to give a finer character to the whole. 
One whose fancy thus floats along upon the severer 
qualities of his mind, reminds us of a bold mountain 
height, around the rugged outline of which, clouds 
of the most delicate texture are so artfully wrapt, 
that the whole seems softened into a heavenly shape 
of beauty. 

We do not like those heroes and heroines, who 
are set apart for display, having a constant fund of 
difficulty to surmount ; as if it were possible to travel 
up and down a chain of mountains during a whole 
life without pausing in the vallies to take breath, 
and consider whether it is better to proceed or to 
stop short. We would rather observe the mind in 
this latter process, than behold it so completely 
wound up, that it must, ere it can stop, either break 
or run down. An author should relate his tale, like 
one who had merely observed the actions of others, 
and hastened to entertain his hearers with their 
repetition ; or "to point a moral" in the events of 
which he had been an eye witness. But how often 
12 



+ 



122 ON NOVEL WRITING. 

in representation, men are made puppets of each 
other, with each string and pulley apparent to all ; 
or, on the contrary, how often are their productions 
so full of plots and counterplots, that like the gordian 
knot, the whole must be rudely severed, or remain 
entangled forever. 

But Scott, Cooper, James, and a few others, be- 
long to that nobler class of writers who make the 
world their study, and point out the errors of the 
great, the virtues of the humble, the defects in 
human laws, and the absurdity of unnatural distinc- 
tions. 

Scott deserves our thanks for the spirit he has 
infused into the character of his heroines in contrast 
with those of Cooper, who are invariably tame and 
insipid, acquiescent without judgment, yielding 
without grace, and enduring because too weak to 
resist. This is all wrong. A woman may approach 
more nearly to the general elements of the male 
character, without losing her identity, than is usually 
imagined. Allow her courage as well as fortitude, 
the capacity to suggest, as well as the disposition to 
obey, the nerve to act, as well as the power to think, 
and she is more perfect as a woman, provided she 
possesses the feminine delicacy of vision to discern 






ON NOVEL WRITING. 123 

the hair-line between energy and boldness, between 
spirit and manly daring, than she, who with a mind 
exclusively bent upon the preservation of the dis- 
tinguishing female graces, passes a life of gentle 
dependence. There is a noble medium between 
the headlong torrent and the petty streamlet. It is 
the flowing river — bold but not boundless — rushing 
yet constrained — deep, yet not fathomless. 

A woman cannot preserve her loveliness as a 
woman, unless her ambition and her love of worldly 
honors are subservient to the softer impulses of her 
heart. Shakspeare is right when he makes love 
control the destinies of his heroines. They may 
aspire reasonably, but they were never meant to 
trample upon their own hearts and the hearts of 
others for empty aggrandizement, as men may do 
with greater impunity. But even with men, we 
doubt if there are many whose ambition has not 
been at some time during their lives, the very slave 
of their affections. 

It is extremely interesting to compare the different 
productions of our best writers with each other. 
Beginning with Scott, and continuing the observa- 
tion down to our own Paulding, it is surprising to 
see what varied combinations of character are placed 



124 ON NOVEL WRITING. 

before us. It is as useful to give a cursory glance 
at this imaginary world, as it is actually to mingle 
with mankind in their public assemblages, or in the 
more refined circles. Human nature has been well 
sifted since the days of Fielding. He is the Shak- 
speare of prose. Since his bold sketches, writers 
have drawn more from nature than from the imag- 
ination exclusively, as formerly. It is certainly 
true also, that the more keenly we scan our fellow 
beings, the more minute do the complicated folds 
of their different temperaments appear. Aristotle's 
system of a world within a world is more true 
of the inward than outward nature. Enough is 
created ; imagination need only embellish. Time 
is not mis-spent in perusing our best novels. We 
know it is the opinion of some, that when they 
have Shakspeare and Fielding, Milton, Johnson, 
&c, before them, they have enough for a life. 
True, here are mines of thought, but they are 
susceptible of numberless ramifications. 

D'Israeli, in his " Curiosities of Literature," gives 
us a chapter upon " Imitations," which shows how 
much an idea may be heightened, and how gradual 
is its approach to perfection. 

In observing how often the thoughts of others 
have been imbibed, unconsciously improved and 



ON NOVEL WRITING. 125 

re-produced by some of the greatest minds the world 
has ever known, we are led to believe that there 
is, strictly speaking nothing new under the sun. 
In modern days, a man of talent, is a sort of mental 
alchymist, and we rejoice to say, that greater 
success has attended the transmutation of heavy 
suggestions into current truths, than ever crowned the 
efforts of the ancient searchers for the philosopher's 
stone. We do not approve of too much reading. 
Literature should be absorbed by the mind, exactly 
as water is taken up by a sponge ; itself unseen, 
save as it increases the bulk of the original material. 
But to pack down the thoughts of others just as we 
would pack down a jar of sweetmeats, is absurd in 
the extreme. When the taste is once formed, 
then reading may be desultory. Let the compass 
of the mind be first extended by our acquaintance 
with the solid writers, and then, every thing else 
will be like tributary streams, which swell the 
original current, while their own tiny natures are 
lost in its depths. Desultory reading is advanta- 
geous, because we are thus led to comprehend the 
full extent of our own powers. We are often in 
the beginning, attracted towards our best friends by 
a casual but happy remark. Thus may the imper- 
fect supposition of others touch a train of thought, 
12* 



126 PRIZE POEM. 

which afterwards embodies new and important 
discoveries. The mind, like the bell, is struck ere 
it can sound ; but the various vibrations, whether 
they be strong or weak, belong intrinsically to the 
metal of which it is composed. 



PRIZE POEM. 

BY SARAH H. WHITMAN. 

Spoken at the opening of the Shakspeare Hall, Providence, 
November 27, 1838. 

Hist ! what strange influence hovers in the air ? 
Soft music breathes and festive torches glare, 
A roseate light illumes the storied wall, 
And youth and beauty throng the lofty hall ; 
Lo, where the Drama, thro' the gloom of night, 
Bursts in soft splendor on the ravished sight ! 
All hail ! bright queen of fancy's fairy train, 
Long lost, long mourned, resume thy genial reign ! 

Can we forget when first, in childhood's hour, 

Our footsteps sought thy vision-haunted bower ? 

When trembling, wondering 'mid the enraptured throng, 

We quaffed the tide of eloquence and song — 

While stood revealed the creatures of our dream, 

Bright, breathing, palpable! scarce could we deem 



PRIZE POEM. 127 

That earth confessed such beauty — to abide 
With these were life — vain shadows all beside. 
O cold the hearts that from such 'witching sway 
Could turn unmoved and passionless away. 

But tho' less genial prove our western clime, 
To Art's bright reign, than when in olden time, 
Thy noblest influence filled Athena's halls, 
While thundering plaudits shook her marble walls- 
Yet have thy temples rose, thine altars smiled, 
Where late the savage tracked the pathless wild, 
And far around thy festive notes are borne, 
Ere fade the echoes of the huntsman's horn. 

Once more we bid thee welcome to our shores, 
Confess thy empire and assert thy cause, 
Again we haunt thy courts, throng round thy shrine, 
And pour soft incense to the breathing Nine. 

Oft when the wint'ry storms shall hurtle round, 

Or silent snow-flakes print the frozen ground, 

When the cold rain comes pattering on the blast, 

And mantling clouds night's blazing host o'ercast, 

Here shall we sit in this enchanted hall, 

While " breathing thoughts and burning words" enthral, — 

Regardless of the cold world's sordid strife, 

And all the hollow mimicries of life — 

Where vainer actors idler pageants play, 

And wear their masks in the broad eye of day. 



128 PRIZE P0E3I. 

Oft shall young beauty to this shrine repairy 
And manhood here cast off life's coiling care, 
Entranced and spell -bound by her potent sway, 
Who " calls each slumbering passion into play"—- 
Exulting, trembling, as her accents flow 
In varying strains of triumph or of woe — 
Now decked in smiles, and now her brow o'er fraught 
With the pale cast of melancholy thought. 

Far thro' the twilight vistas of the past, 
Where gathering years their cloudy mantles cast. 
Oft turns her eagle eye, and at its glance, 
The shadows vanish from that drear expanse — 
Lo, at her gaze night melteth into day, 
And the dark mist of ages rolls away ! 

Each old romantic region hath she traced, 
And gathered many a floweret from the waste, 
Which fancy nurtured with her softest dews, 
While wit and wisdom lent their golden hues. 
She hath " called spirits from the vasty deep," 
Roused kings and heroes from their dreamless sleep, 
Restored the scenes of a chivalrous age, 
Where knightly forms heroic conflicts wage, 
The victor's triumph on th/ ensanguined field, 
The plume, the penon, and the blazon'd shield — 
Bade the dead lover's clay-cold bosom glow, 
And the slain warrior meet once more his foe, 



PRIZE POEM. 129 

And caused them for a night on earth to roam, 
Then pass like spectres to their silent home. 

And now she comes with all her shadowy train 
To hold her court within this gorgeous fane — 
Here her bright banner fearlessly unfurls, 
Nor heeds the pointless shaft the bigot hurls. 
Boundless her influence, her intent sublime, 
To cherish virtue and to shield from crime, 
With loftiest theme to rouse the languid heart, 
And stem reproof with subtle grace impart ; 
To wake the noble love of well earned fame, 
And teach the glory of a deathless name. 
She shows how heroes lived and martyrs died 
And fills the exulting breast with god-like pride, 
That such high energies to man are given, 
To conquer earth and ope the gates of heaven. 

Such themes new vigor to the heart supply, 
Flush every cheek and light up every eye. 

Whether in gorgeous drapery she is seen, 
Moving before us like an empire's queen — 
Or clothed in all the majesty of woe, 
Bids beauty's tears like molten diamonds glow — - 
Or wreathed in smiles, with soft seducing glance, 
Makes the warm life blood through the pulses dance, 
Still ever beautiful she meets the sight, 
Taking all shapes to furnish new delight, 



130 IMPOSSIBILITY OF ATHEISM. 

Forever changing, yet forever true 
To one fond aim — approving smiles from you. 
Long may those smiles our virgin temple grace? 
And Shakspeare's spirit hallow all the place. 



IMPOSSIBILITY OF ATHEISM, 

BY THE REV. CHARLES T. BROOKS. 

Men have, in all ages and regions of the world, 
felt the great truth that 

" The awful shadow of some unseen power 
Floats though unseen among' us." 

And one who will study with a penetrating eye the 
heathen mythology and mysteries, will find clear 
traces of a belief in one God of gods running 
through all, — will find reason to say of heathen an- 
tiquity in general, what was so beautifully said in 
regard to the idolatry of Greece — • 

" And yet — triumphant o'er this pompous show 
Of art, this palpable array of sense 
On every side encountered ; — a Spirit hung 
Beautiful Region ! o'er thy towns and farms, 
Statues and temples and memorial tombs." 

The ancient heathen, though he knew not what he 
worshipped, did in reality dimly adore one Divinity. 



IMPOSSIBILITY OF ATHEISM. 131 

He adored, indeed, in name and form, gods of the 
winds, the woods, and the waters, but it was the 
one, eternal, almighty, and all pervading spirit or 
power, which gave life and motion to the wind, the 
forest and the river, that he felt and reverenced. 
And we may discern amidst the strange and mon- 
strous creations of the ancient heathen mythology — 
amidst the strong workings of the heathen mind. 
a tendency and an effort to make intelligible to the 
understanding that truth of the being of one su- 
preme power, which has always dwelt and will 
always dwell in the heart and conscience of man. 
They bowed down, indeed, to the images of many 
gods, but there was a Father of gods, as well as of 
men. as certain of their oivn poets said. And more 
than this, there were the mysterious and inexorable 
Fates to whose eternal decrees gods as well as men 
were subject. The self-styled or self-fancied Atheist, 
though in his zeal against certain ideas of God that 
have darkened and degraded the human soul, he 
may sometimes be hurried so far as to seem to him- 
self, as well as others, to deny Divine Providence 
itself, — cannot in the wildest wanderings of his 
spirit, fly from himself and therefore cannot escape 
from the presence of the Being who made him, 
who dwells within his body as in a temple, andnum- 



132 IMPOSSIBILITY OF ATHEISM. 

bereth the very hairs of his head. And although 
he may have seen so much iniquity committed in 
the name of the Most High, as to induce him to 
refuse that name a place in his system of belief, 
nevertheless he cannot in fact and in feeling remain 
" without God in the world" — in other words he 
cannot be actually an Atheist. If he be a man of 
strong feelings of justice coupled with a somewhat 
sombre temperament, he will see every where the 
footsteps of some ever-working, resistless and in- 
exorable power, to which he may give the name of 
Destiny. And the decrees of this Despot, he will 
be ever nerving himself to bear and to defy. To 
him then, Fate or Necessity will be a God. If he 
be a man of no settled principles whatever — a mere 
straw on the waves of the world, then you will find 
him the " dark idolator of chance." He will court 
the caprices of a Being who is dimly imaged to his 
mind under the name of Fortune, and even pray to 
her in his heart. Or if he be one whose kindlier 
affections have never been polluted by sophistry or 
by selfishness, then, however he may declaim 
against the name or against some of the imputed 
attributes of Jehovah, his heart will go forth in love 
and rise in adoration to a Mother Nature — he will 
worship with all his faculties and feelings a mighty 



IMPOSSIBILITY OF ATHEISM. 133 

and mysterious power, goodness and wisdom — 
which he may choose to call the " Soul of the 
Universe." If his spiritual nature be cultivated;, he 
will commune with this all-pervading, all-em- 
bracing, all-animating Soul in every place and 
season. To him the whisper of the winds, the 
moan of the billows and all the sounds of Nature, 
will be the audible voice — the universal air will be 
the breath — and the blue sky the serene countenance 
of a Being, whom though he may not choose to 
name him as men name him, his heart and soul and 
all that is withfn him, impel him irresistibly to love 
and reverence as the source and support of all crea- 
tures. 

So deeply has the Creator engraven on man's 
heart a sense of his being and agency — so true it is — 
to quote a happy illustration of the thought, that as 
the needle touched by the loadstone, turns, after all 
its deviations, tremblingly faithful to the pole — so 
the Soul of man touched by the Holy Spirit, turns, 
amidst its wildest errors, tremblingly faithful to the 
throne of God. 
13 



134 



PAUL PREACHING AT ATHENS 

SUGGESTED BY THE CARTOON OF RAFFAELLE. 
BY ANNE C. LYNCH. 

Greece ! hear that joyful sound, 
A stranger's voice upon thy sacred hill, 
Whose tones shall bid the slumbering nations round. 

Wake with convulsive thrill. 
Athenians ! gather there, he brings you words 
Brighter than all your boasted lore affords. 

He brings you news of One 
Above Olympian Jove. One in whose light 
Your gods shall fade like stars before the sun ; 

On your bewilder'd night 
That Unknown God of whom ye darkly dream r 
In all his burning radiance shall beam. 

Behold, he bids you rise 
From your dark worship round that idol shrine, 
He points to him who rear'd your starry skies, 

And bade your Phoebus shine. 
Lift up your souls from where in dust ye bow, 
That God of gods commands your homage now. 

But, brighter tidings still ! 
He tells of one whose precious blood was spilt 
In lavish streams upon Judea's hill, 

A ransom for your guilt, — 
Who triumphed o'er the grave, and broke its chain ; 
Who conquer'd Death and Hell, and rose again. 



PAUL PREACHING AT ATHENS. 135 

Sages of Greece ! come near — 
Spirits of daring thought and giant mould, 
Ye questioners of time and nature, hear 

Mysteries before untold ! 
Immortal life revealed ! light for which ye 
Have tasked in vain your proud philosophy. 

Searchers for some First Cause 
Midst doubt and darkness, lo ! he points to One 
Where all your vaunted reason lost must pause, 

And faint to think upon. 
That was from everlasting, that shall be 
To everlasting still, eternally. 

Ye followers of him 
Who deemed his soul a spark of Deity ! 
Your fancies fade, — your master's dreams grow dim 

To this reality. 
Stoic ! unbend that brow, drink in that sound ! 
Skeptic ! dispel those doubts, the Truth is found. 

Greece ! though thy sculptured walls 
Have with thy triumphs and thy glories rung, 
And through thy temples and thy pillar'd halls, 

Immortal poets sung, — 
No sounds like these have rent your startled air, 
They open realms of light and bid you enter there. 



136 



ON THE REMOVAL OF THE REMAINS OF 
WASHINGTON. 

BY THE HON. TRISTAM BURGES. 

On the 13th of February, 1832, a Resolution was intro- 
duced into the House of Representatives, to remove the 
remains of Washington from Virginia, and to place them 
in a vault under the centre of the Capitol. 

If I look back towards the beginning of life, 
memory is in a moment filled with bright and 
joyous recollections of that time, when even in the 
distant and humble neighborhood of my birth, the 
lessons of youth, and of childhood, when the very 
songs of the cradle were the deeds, the glory, the 
praises of Washington. 

Think you, these teachings have ceased in the 
land j that these feelings are dead in our country ? 

Cannot we, who regard the buried remains of the 
great Father of our Country, as the earthly remains 
of no other mortal man are regarded ; cannot we, 
awed and subdued with gratitude, with more than 
filial piety ; cannot we approach the hallowed 
repository, and roll back the stone from the door of 
the sepulchre, without the guilt of sacrilege ? Can- 
not his country remove the remains of this, its great 
Founder ; and carry them in solemn procession, 



REMOVAL OF THE REMAINS OF WASHINGTON. 137 

accompanied by all the rights of religion, and all 
the sanctity of its ministers ; and finally deposite 
them in the national cemetry provided for that 
purpose under the foundation of this building,* 
which thenceforth shall be, not only the temple 
of freedom, legislation, and justice, but also the 
august mausoleum of Washington? Who, of all 
the civilized world, will, while these reverential 
movements are performing, who will point his fin- 
ger at these solemnities, and call them a mere pa- 
geant ? 

It is the feeling, the purpose of the persons, and 
not the place or the subject which renders their 
deed pious or profane. Can we never again without 
sacrilege, look into the dark house of those so dear 
to us, until they, bursting the cerements of the tomb, 
are clothed with immortality ? How often does 
the piety of children, how often the anxious affec- 
tion of parents, induce them to remove the remains 
of endeared relatives, to places of more appropriate 
sepulture ? How often do nations remove to their 
own countries, from distant foreign lands, the bones 
of their illustrious dead ? Was it sacrilege in the 
Hebrews, when migrating from Egypt, to take from 

*The Capitol at Washington. 

13* 



138 REMOVAL OF THE REMAINS OF WASHINGTON. 

the consecrated catacomb or pyramid, where for cen- 
turies they had been deposited, the bones of the 
illustrious founder of one of their families, and the 
preserver of them all : and bearing them from the 
populous valley of the Nile, the learned and luxuri- 
ous realm of the Pharaoh's, the scene of all his glory 
that they might carry them to a land of rocks and 
mountains : and render his burial place one of the 
eternal monuments of their country ? So it has 
continued ; and at this day it is, by the dwellers on 
the hill or on the plain, pointed out to the traveller 
as the tomb of Joseph the Patriarch. 

We are told that the last will and testament of 
Washington, points out the place and directs the 
manner of his interment : and if we remove his 
bones from their present repository, we shall violate 
that will, and set at defiance principles dear to all 
civilized nations. Did indeed, then, this great man 
prohibit this people from doing honor to his remains 
by placing them in a mausoleum more suitable to 
his illustrious life, and to the gratitude of Ameri- 
cans ? He, like all Christian men, directed by his 
last will, that his body should have Christian burial : 
and prescribed the manner, he selected the place 
for that purpose. How shall we expound that will ? 
It has been expounded for us ; and that too, by one, 



REMOVAL OF THE REMAINS OF WASHINGTON. 139 

who was the partner of his perils and triumphs, his 
labors and councils. One, who shared with him all 
life could give — and stood by him in the hour of 
dissolution. Think you, that she would have vio- 
lated his will ; and that too in the beginning of her 
bereavement ; in the first dark hours of her earthly 
desolation? "Taught by his great example," she 
gave up those remains at the call of her country. 

I cannot join in the pious incantation of those 
who would, in imagination, call up the mighty 
dead, and put them to inquisition, concerning 
these obsequies. Who, if he might, would bring 
back from the blessedness of heaven, to the cares of 
earth, one purified spirit : or for a moment interrupt 
the felicities of those realms of reality, by any thing 
which agitates human feelings, in this region of 
dust and shadows ? Permit me to learn from his 
life, what his country may, with propriety, do with 
his remains, after his death. When that immortal 
soul, now as we trust in beatitude, inhabited and 
animated his mortal part, where was the place, what 
was the service to which the voice of his country 
called him, and he was not there ? In the toils of 
war, in the councils of peace, he was, soul and body 
devoted to that people, whom he labored through 
life to build up into one great nation. Should that 



140 REMOVAL OF THE REMAINS OF WASHINGTON 

body at this time be less at the service of his country,, 
than when alive, with the imperishable soul it was. 
Washington, and walked the world, for human wel- 
fare ? If his whole life doth tell us, that he placed 
himself at the €all of his country, then truly where 
should all that remains, be finally found, but where 
the same voice would place them ? 

We would not raise over him " a pyramid, a 
monument, like the eternal mountains. n No, the 
folly of ancient ambition, has perished from the 
earth, while these its monuments still stand unmoved 
upon its surface. This House, we trust will endure 
as long as this nation endures. Let this be the 
Mausoleum of Washington. We would place his 
remains in the cemetery built for that purpose, 
under the centre of that dome which covers the 
Rotunda. Directly over this on that floorj we 
would erect a pedestrian statue of that man, suffic- 
iently colossal, and placed on a pedestal so high and 
massy, as might be required to fill and satisfy the 
eye, in the centre of that broad and lofty room, 
which, probably, has no equal in the architecture of 
the world. 

The ever-during marble will give to coming 
generations the form and the features of Washington ; 
and the traveller of future ages shall learn where he 



A DAY OF THE INDIAN SUMMER. 141 

may find his tomb. This House, this Mausoleum 
of one, who prospered by Divine assistance, per- 
formed more for his country and for the human race, 
than any other mortal, shall be a place of pilgrimage 
for all nations. Hither will come the brave, the 
wise, the good, from every part of our country ; 
not to worship, but to stand by the sepulchre and 
to relume the light of patriotism at the monument 
of Washington. 



A DAY OF THE INDIAN SUMMER. 

BY SARAH H. WHITMAN. 

" Yet one more smile, departing distant sun 
Ere o'er the frozen earth the loud winds run 
And snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare." — Bryant. 

A day of golden beauty ! — Through the night 
The hoar-frost gathered o'er each leaf and spray 
Weaving its filmy network, thin and bright 
And shimmering like silver in the ray 
Of the soft, sunny morning — turf and tree 
Pranct in its delicate embroidery, 
And every withered stump and mossy stone. 
With gems encrusted and with seed-pearl sown ; 
While in the hedge the frosted berries glow, 
The scarlet holly and the purple sloe, 



142 A DAY OF THE INDIAN SUMMER, 

And all is gorgeous, fairy-like and frail 
As the famed gardens of the Arabian tale. 

How soft and still the varied landscape lies, 
Calmly outspread beneath the smiling skies, 
As if the earth in prodigal array 
Of gems and broidcred robes kept holiday ; 
Her harvest yielded and her work all done 
Basking in beauty 'neath the autumn sun ! 

Yet once more through the soft and balmy day 

Up the brown hill-side, o'er the sunny brae 

Far let us rove — or, through lone solitudes 

Where " autumn's smile beams through the yellow woods/ 

Fondly retracing each sweet, summer haunt 

And sylvan pathway — where the sunbeams slant 

Through yonder copse, tinging the saffron stars 

Of the witch-hazel with their golden bars, 

Or, lingering down this dim and shadowy lane 

Where still the damp sod wears an emerald stain, 

Though ripe brown nuts hang clustering in the hedge 

And the rude barberry o'er yon rocky ledge 

Droops with its pendant corals. When the showers 

Of April clothed this winding path, with flowers, 

Here oft we sought the violet, as it lay 

Buried in beds of moss and lichens grey ; 

And still the aster greets us as we pass 

With her faint smile — among the withered gras^ 



A DAY OF THE INDIAN SUMMER. 143 

Beside the way, lingering as loth of heart, 
Like me, from these sweet solitudes to part. 

Now seek we the dank borders of the stream 

Where the tall fern-tufts shed a ruby gleam 

Over the water from their crimsoned plumes, 

And clustering near the modest gentian blooms 

Lonely around — hallowed by sweetest song, 

The last and loveliest of the floral throng. 

Yet here we may not linger, for behold, 

Where the stream widens, like a sea of gold 

Outspreading far before us — all around 

Steep wooded heights and sloping uplands bound 

The sheltered scene — along the distant shore 

Through colored woods the glinting sunbeams pour, 

Touching their foliage with a thousand shades 

And hues of beauty, as the red light fades 

Upon the hill -side 'neath yon floating shroud, 

Or, from the silvery edges of the cloud 

Pours down a brighter gleam. Gray willows lave 

Their pendant branches in the crystal wave, 

And slender birch-trees o'er its banks incline, 

Whose tall, slight stems across the water shine 

Like shafts of silver — there the tawny elm, 

The fairest subject of the sylvan realm, 

The tufted pine-tree and the cedar dark, 

And the young chestnut, its smooth polished bark 

Gleaming like porphyry in the yellow light, 

The dark brown oak and the rich maple dight 



144 A DAY OF THE INDIAN SUMMER, 

In robes of scarlet, all are standing there 

So still, so calm in the soft misty air 

That not a leaf is stirring — nor a sound 

Startles the deep repose that broods around, 

Save when the robin's melancholy song 

Is heard from yonder coppice, and along 

The sunny side of that low, moss-grown wall 

That skirts our path, the cricket's chirping call, 

Or, the fond murmur of the drowsy bee 

O'er some lone flowret on the sunny lea, 

And, heard at intervals, a pattering sound 

Of ripened acorns rustling to the ground 

Through the crisp, withered leaves.— How lonely alL 

How calmly beautiful ! Long shadows fall 

More darkly o'er the wave as day declines, 

Yet from the west a deeper glory shines, 

While every crested hill and rocky height 

Each moment varies in the kindling light 

To some new form of beauty — changing through 

All shades and colors of the rainbow r s hue, 

" The last still loveliest" till the gorgeous day 

Melts in a flood of golden light away, 

And all is o'er. Before to-morrow's sun 

Cold winds may rise and shrouding shadows dun 

Obscure the scene — yet shall these fading hues 

And fleeting forms their loveliness transfuse 

Into the mind — and memory shall burn 

The painting in on her enamelled urn 



CONDITION OF EUROPE. 145 

Iii undecaying colors. When the blast 

Rages around and snows are gathering fast, 

When musing sadly by the twilight hearth 

Or lonely wandering through life's crowded path 

Its quiet beauty rising through the gloom 

Shall soothe the languid spirits and illume 

The drooping fancy — winning back the soul 

To cheerful thoughts through nature's sweet control. 



THE PRESENT INTELLECTUAL AND POLITICAL 
CONDITION OF EUROPE. 

BY THE REV. FRANCIS WAYLAND, D. D. 

Within the last fifty years, the intellectual 
character of the middling and lower classes of so- 
ciety throughout the civilized world has materially 
improved, and the process of improvement is at 
present going forward with accelerated rapidity. A 
taste for that sort of reading, which requires consid- 
erable reflection, and even some acquaintance with 
the abstract sciences, is every day becoming more 
widely disseminated. And not only is the number: 
of newspapers multiplying beyond any former pre- 
cedent, but it is found necessary to enlist in their 
14 



146 THE PRESENT INTELLECTUAL AND 

service a far greater portion of literary talent than 
at any other period. 

And truth obliges us to state, that this melioration 
owes much of its late advancement to the pious 
zeal of Protestant Christians. Desirous to extend 
the means of salvation to the whole human race, 
these benevolent men have labored with persever- 
ance and success, not only to circulate the Bible, but 
to enable men to read it. Hence have arisen the 
British and Foreign Bible Society, the British and 
Foreign School Society, the Baptist Irish Society, 
the multiplied free schools, and the innumerable 
Sabbath Schools, which are so peculiarly the glory 
of the present age of the church. And surely it is 
delightful to witness the disciples of Him, who went 
about doing good, thus girding themselves to the 
work of redeeming their fellow men from ignorance 
and sin. O ! it is a goodly thing to behold the rich 
man pouring forth from his abundance, and the poor 
man casting in his mite ; the old man directing by 
counsel, and the young man seconding him by 
exertion ; the matron visiting the prison, and the 
young woman instructing the Sabbath School ; and 
all pledging themselves, each one to the other, that, 
God helping them, this world shall be the better for 
their having lived in it. The effects of these exer- 



POLITICAL CONDITION OF EUROPE. 147 

tions are every year becoming more distinctly visi- 
ble. In a short time, if the church be faithful to 
herself, and faithful to her God, what are now called 
the lower classes of society will cease to exist j men 
and women will be reading and thinking beings ; 
and the word canaille will no longer be applied to 
any portion of the human race, within the limits of 
civilization. 

In connexion with these facts, we would remark, 
that in consequence of this general diffusion of in- 
telligence, nations are becoming vastly better ac- 
quainted with the physical, moral and political con- 
ditions of each other. Whatever of any moment 
is transacted in the legislative assemblies of one 
country, is now very soon known, not merely to the 
rulers, but also to the people of every other country. 
Nay, an interesting occurrence of any nature cannot 
transpire in an insignificant town of Europe or 
America, without finding its way, through the 
medium of the daily journals, to the eyes and ears 
of all Christendom. Every man must be, in a con- 
siderable degree, a spectator of the doings of the 
world, or he is soon very far in the rear of the in^ 
telligence of the day. Indeed, he has only to read 
a respectable newspaper, and he may be informed of 
the discoveries in the arts, the discussions in the 



148 THE PRESENT INTELLECTUAL AND 

senates, and the bearings of public opinion, all over 
the world. 

The reasons for all this, as we have intimated, 
may be found chiefly in that increased desire of 
information, which characterizes the mass of society 
in the present age. Intelligence of every kind, and 
especially political intelligence, has become an article 
of profit • and, when once this is the case, there can 
be no doubt that it will be abundantly supplied. 
Beside this, it is important to remark, that the art of 
navigation has been within a few years materially 
improved, and commercial relations have become 
vastly more extensive. The establishment of packet 
ships between the two continents has brought Lon- 
don and Paris as near to us as Pittsburg and New- 
Orleans. There is every reason to believe, that, 
within the next half century, steam navigation will 
render the communication between the ports of 
Europe and America as frequent, and almost as 
regular, as that by ordinary mails. The commercial 
houses of every nation are establishing their agencies 
in the principal cities of every other nation, and 
thus binding together the people by every tie of 
interest ; while at the same time they are furnishing 
innumerable channels, by which information may 
be circulated among every class of the community. 



POLITICAL CONDITION OF EUROPE. 149 

Hence it is that the moral influence, which nations 
are exerting upon each other, is greater than it has 
been at any antecedent period in the history of the 
world. The institutions of one country, are be- 
coming known, almost of necessity, to every other 
country. Knowledge provokes to comparison, and 
comparison leads to reflection. The fact that others 
are happier than themselves, prompts men to inquire 
whence this difference proceeds, and how their own 
melioration may be accomplished. By simply look- 
ing upon a free people, an oppressive people instinc- 
tively feel that they have inalienable rights ; and 
they will never afterwards be at rest, until the en- 
joyment of these rights is guaranteed to them. 
Thus one form of government, which in any pre- 
eminent degree promotes the happiness of man, is 
gradually disseminating the principles of its consti- 
tution, and from the very fact of its existence, call- 
ing into being those trains of thought, which must 
in the end revolutionize every government, within 
the sphere of its influence, under which the people 
are oppressed. 

And thus is it that the field in which mind may 
labor, has now become wide as the limits of civil- 
ization. A doctrine advanced by one man, if it have 
any claim to interest, is soon known to every other 
14* 



150 THE PRESENT INTELLECTUAL AND 

man. The movement of one intellect, now sets in 
motion the intellects of millions. We may now 
calculate upon effects, not upon a state or a people, 
but upon the melting, amalgamating mass of human 
nature. Man is now the instrument which genius 
wields at its will ; it touches a chord of the human 
heart, and nations vibrate in unison. And thus he 
who can rivet the attention of a community upon 
an elementary principle hitherto neglected in politics 
or in morals, or who can bring an acknowledged 
principle to bear upon an existing abuse, may, by 
his own intellectual might, with only the assistance 
of the press, transform the institutions of an empire 
or a world. 

In many respects, the nations of Christendom 
collectively are becoming somewhat analogous to 
our own Federal Republic. Antiquated distinctions 
are passing away, and local animosities are "subsiding. 
The common people of different countries are know- 
ing each other better, esteeming each other more, 
and attaching themselves to each other by various 
manifestations of reciprocal good will. It is true, 
every nation has still its separate boundaries and its 
individual interests ; but the freedom of commercial 
intercourse is allowing those interests to adjust them- 
selves to each other, and thus rendering the causes 



POLITICAL CONDITION OF EUROPE. 151 

of collision of vastly less frequent occurrence. Local 
questions are becoming of less, and general questions 
of greater importance. Thanks be to God, men 
have at last begun to understand the rights, and to 
feel for the wrongs, of each other. Mountains inter- 
posed do not so much make enemies of nations. 
Let the trumpet of alarm be sounded, and. its notes 
are now heard by every nation whether of Europe 
or America. Let a voice borne on the feeblest breeze 
tell that the rights of man are in danger, and it 
floats over valley and mountain, across continent and 
ocean, until it has vibrated on the ear of the remotest 
dweller in Christendom. Let the arm of oppression 
be raised to crush the feeblest nation on earth, and 
there will be heard every where, if not the shout of 
defiance, at least the deep-toned murmur of impla- 
cable displeasure. It is the cry of aggrieved, insulted, 
much-abused man. It is human nature waking in 
her might from the slumber of ages, shaking herself 
from the dust of antiquated institutions, girding 
herself for the combat, and going forth conquering 
and to conquer ; and wo unto the man, wo unto the 
dynasty, wo unto the party, and wo unto the policy, 
on whom shall fall the scath of her blighting indig- 
nation. 

That two parties are forming in every country, 



15% THE PRESENT INTELLECTUAL AND 

we have abundant evidence ; it is equally evident 
that the question on which? they are divided is of 
the utmost magnitude •; and that it is, in every 
nation, substantially the same. 

As to their present state, we may observe, that 
the one has enlisted the greatest numbers, while the 
other wields the most effective force. The one com- 
prises the lower and middling classes of society, 
which are of course by far the most numerous, and 
the other r the rulers and their immediate dependants. 
The physical power of any nation always resides 
with the governed, and it is the governed who are 
the friends of free institutions. But it is to be 
remarked, that the millions who desire reform are 
scattered abroad over our immense tracts of country, 
each one by his own fireside, without concert, and 
destitute of the means for organized operation j on 
the contrary, the force of the rulers is always col- 
lected, and can at any moment be brought to bear 
upon any portion of territory, in which there might 
appear the least movement towards revolution. 

But the friends of popular institutions are opposed,, 
in every nation, by more than the force of their own 
rulers. Whilst they are powerful only at home, the 
rulers are able to bring all their forces to bear upon 
a single point in any part of the civilized world. 



POLITICAL CONDITION OF EUROPE. 153 

To accomplish this purpose, seems the principal 
design of the Holy Alliance ; and hence they have 
pledged the physical force of the whole to each 
other, whenever a question shall be agitated in any 
country, on which depends the rights of the people. 

If we compare their prospects, we shall find that 
the popular party is increasing with amazing 
rapidity. Nations are already flocking to its standard. 
Fifty years ago, and it could be hardly said to exist, 
only as the voice of indignant freemen was heard 
in 3^onder hall,* the far famed " cradle of liberty." 
From that moment, its progress has been right on- 
ward. A continent has since declared itself free. 
In the old world, the principles of liberty are becom- 
ing more universally received, more thoroughly 
understood, and more ably supported. Education 
is becoming every day more widely disseminated : 
and every man, as he learns to think, ranks himself 
with the friends of intellectual improvement. The 
trains of thought are already at work, which must 
effect important modifications in the social edifice, 
or that edifice, undermined from its foundations, 
must crumble into ruin. 

And thus, from these very causes, the other party 
is rapidly declining. Nations are leaving it. The 

* Faneuil Hall. 



154 WHERE IS THY BROTHER. 

• ■ 

people are loathing it. It cannot ultimately succeed, 
until it has changed the ordinances of heaven. It 
cannot prosper, unless it can check that tendency to 
improvement, with which God endowed man at the 
first moment of his creation. Every report of op- 
pression weakens it. Every Sabbath School, every 
Bible Society, nay, every mode of circulating knowl- 
edge weakens it. And thus, unless by some com- 
bined and convulsive effort it should for a little while 
recover its power, it may almost be expected that 
within the present age, it will fall before the resist- 
less march of public opinion. 



"WHERE IS THY BROTHER?' 

BY SARAH S. JACOBS. 

There were sounds of peace and joyousness. 
In that New England place ; 

And there was many a merry smile 
On many a merry face ; 

And the great sun went riding up, 
And the broad river ran ; 

All things seemed hideously glad- 
To me a guilty man. 

I could not bear the yellow light 
As it streamed so pure and clear • 



WHERE IS THY BROTHER. 155 

The holy look of the village church, 

It thrilled me thro' with fear. 
I turned away from the gentle stream, 

And from the smiling land, 
For their peace was torture unto one 

With blood upon his hand. 

I saw the city's distant spires, 

I saw the old turrets gray, 
And the household chimneys and the smoke 

With the fresh air at play, 
I loathed them all, they mocked me so, 

They would not let me be, 
But still kept pointing to the heaven 

That I might never see. 

As the sun-shine chased the sportive cloud 

O'er the fields of golden grain, 
The darker fell and heavier, 

The cloud upon my brain. 
The shadow of the broad old oak 

Slanted to reach his grave ; 
And the river told the sky my crime 

In the blood tint of its wave. 

The trees in the wood towered loftier, 
Their outlines grew harsh and grim, 

And they seemed to struggle hard with me, 
As I had striven with him. 

A deadly shudder crept o'er the world, 



156 WHERE IS THY BROTHER. 

Tho' the sun shone pleasantly, 
And I knew that the eyes of the buried man, 
Were peeping out at me. 

The innocent flowers beside my path 

Looked pale and shivering ; 
Oh ! the whole earth was cursed for me, 

The only guilty thing. 
The blessed beauty of a child, 

With its lovely eyes and hair ; 
I thought it would cool my fevered heart, 

Oh God ! his smile was there. 

I shrunk away from his wondering look 

From his gentle hand away ; 
" Oh ! come with me," he cried, " or else 

You'll be too late to pray." 
For the bells were tolling in the tower ; 

And in the stillness calm, 
Unbroken to the ear of heaven 

Rung out the morning psalm. 

The pleasant child looked back at me, 

And shut the church-yard gate ; 
Alas ! I knew as he had said 

It was indeed too late. 
And then I sat down quietly, 

Despair had made me strong ; 
It passed in tearless suffering, 

That lonely day and long. 



WHERE IS THY BROTHER. 157 

The sun had watched me close all day, 

And when his beams were low • 
Men came and in the pleasant fields, 

Were walking to and fro. 
I saw one with a quiet garb 

A hat with an ample brim 
And a placid look, as if the world 

Were placid unto him. 

And he spoke kindly unto me 

Touched by my wretched face > 
And asked me why I sat so still 

All day in that same place ? 
I told him all, I told him all. 

And others round us came ; 
What cared I ? the wide universe 

Already knew my shame. 

And how I loved the dead, I told 

As if he were my brother ; 
And how I struck a cruel blow, 

Another, and another. 
How I buried him beneath the oak, 

Two nights before, in the rain ; 
And I prayed them for sweet mercy's sake, 

Not to leave me there again. 



v o l 



I thought not of the magistrate, 
I thought not to atone ; 
15 



158 WHERE IS THY BROTHER. 

I dreaded nothing but to stay 
With my dead friend alone. 

Then those around us went away 
The kindly Quaker stayed, 

He did not speak to me, but since, 
I 've thought for me he prayed. 

An hour or more we waited thus 

The peaceful man and I, 
Until the boldest of the stars 

Was flashing in the sky. 
And then, all sinful as I was, 

Doomed to a death of shame, 
The sleep 1 had not found before, 

Cool and refreshing came. 

The Quaker held my hand the while, 
The tree waved o'er my head ; 
'ne, two, to watch me, and the star 
Another, and the dead. 
d when the men came from the town 
To take me to be tried, 
The murdered and the murderer, 
Were sleeping side by side. 






s\A/f-. 



MUSIC AND DEVOTION. 167 

In its most romantic, and also its most ennobling 
form, it is the result of all the estimable qualities 
which the excited imagination of the lover can 
combine, embodied and harmonizing in some pleas- 
ing object, which has, in some generally unknown 
manner, exeited the first emotion. When these 
perfections are different from any which we are 
conscious of possessing within ourselves, we have 
no means of measuring their extent, and the imag- 
ination may expand without limit to meet its wants, 
or its conceptions. The superiority of mind to mat- 
ter, and the greater expansibility of its qualities, 
indicate it as the only terrestrial object capable of 
exciting this hallowed emotion, and the diversity, 
which is a necessary element in perfecting it, is 
found admirably designed in the modifications of 
the masculine and feminine characters. This is 
confirmed by common observation. If th< 
of the romantic passion are correct, it is evi 
the imagination will almost immediately h 
the measure of this ideal excellence — that it will 
have reached, and even gone beyond the tangible 
object of its adoration ; and hence, although it may 
still retain all that it has gained, that object must 
lose its power of impelling it forward in the flowery 
paths and bright creations to which it has introduced 



168 CONNEXION BETWEEN LOVE, POETRY. 



it. We trust that we shall not be suspected of in- 
tending any disparagement of the sex, from whose 
purer spirit first emanated the spark which kindled 
in the breast of man this etherial flame. 

It is much, that woman has made us acquainted 
with one of the infinite tendencies of the soul, to 
fill the never ending expansion of which, she must 
be more than angel. Must this influence then be 
arrested and the consequent improvement cease ? 
Has this spirituality been awakened in the soul, only 
to shed a momentary gleam of romance over the 
realities of life ? Analogy rejects the idea ; it must 
serve some higher purpose. And observing the path 
of our progression, is it not obvious that this finite 
feeling may be merged in the love of that which is 
infinite ; and in the attributes of God find an illimit- 
able field for expansion, where every new elevation 
reals more to admire, adore, and love ; thus 
: presenting a standard of superior excellence, 
rever winning us towards perfection ? There 
is on this account, a manifest advantage in the Deity 
not being present to our senses in any definite, 
tangible form. His power, wisdom, goodness, and 
every perfection, are manifested to us, only in the 
beauty, grandeur, and designs of his creation ; but 
these evidences are so obvious, so numerous and so 



music AND DEVOTION. 169 

varied, that every one may discern the qualities and 
combine them so as to form the precise character 
which will correspond to his idea of perfection, and 
which he can most admire, love, and adore. A beau 
ideal, in which increased clearness of perception 
will only discover new beauty, and on which he 
may forever expatiate, and yet not sum up all its 
excellencies — in which his admiration will be per- 
petually excited by new and delightful discovery— 
which will continually adapt itself to the change 
and enlargement of his views of perfection, and ap- 
pear more beautiful and lovely, the more he 
contemplates it. His most exalted conceptions of 
excellence may here always be realized, and the 
mode of mind is love etheralized, love sublimated to 
devotion, and resting not on the fleeting shadows of 
a feverish imagination, but on the infinite and im- 
mutable attributes of a Being, that can never be 
the subject of those changes and misfortunes, the 
thought of which will sometimes break upon the 
transports of the most impassioned lover. The 
thought of one beloved, and with whom fancy has 
associated every human excellence and angelic love- 
liness, has often elevated the mind above criminal 
or ignoble conduct ; and if religion had done no 

more than furnish us with an ideal, in which we 
16 



170 CONNEXION BETWEEN LOVE, POETRY, 

group every perfection, she would still have done 
much to purify the heart, ennoble the mind, and 
bless and protect our race. Whether the object, 
with which we associate this ideal excellence, be 
human or divine, the effect of contemplating it will 
be the same in kind, though varying in degree ; the 
tendency in either case being to produce that eleva- 
tion of soul, purity of sentiment, and refinement 
of feeling, which are the natural guardians of virtue. 
It is in this view, that we may realize the fulness of 
an apothegm of Madame De Stael, and perceive how 
much more than the mere truism is conveyed in her 
expression, " to love God is still to love." We again 
repeat, that to a mind accustomed to observe and to 
contemplate its advancement in this delightful pro- 
gression, there can be nothing terrible in that which 
merely accelerates it. 

The observed connexion between refined intelli- 
gence, enthusiasm, love, poetry, music and devotion, 
bears a striking analogy to that so often noticed by 
natural philosophers, between heat, light, magnetism 
galvanism, electricity, vitality, and the nervous 
fluid. An ingenious attempt,* has not long since 
been made to elucidate the latter, by a division of 
matter into two classes ; the one called common 

* Ultimate Principles by Lardner, Vanuxum, &c. 






A^yKr 



VUCJU i/~CdL 



31H0DE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 179 

Its secret, inmost depths revealed. 
Oh, many an overburdened soul 

Has been at last to madness wrought, 
While proudly struggling to control 

Its burning and consuming thought ; 
"When it had sought communion long, 

And had been doomed in vain to seek, 
-For feelings Far too deep and strong 

For heart to bear or tongue to speak. 



RHODE.ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 

■BY THE HON. WILLIAM HUNTER. 

The first blows struck in our Revolution in an 
obscure village of a remote, and almost unknown 
country, seem -to have been heard all over the 
world. The inhabitants of Europe seemed roused 
as from the trance of ages, and soon from anxious 
spectators, became generous and animated actors. 
We had as our friends, and fellow combatants, the 
patriotic and chivalrous spirits of Poland — Pulaski 
and Kosciusko. The gallant and accomplished 
Fersen, of Sweden. The tacticians and disciplina- 
rians of Austria and Prussia, De Kalb and Steuben. 
We mustered in our train the flower of the French 
nobility. The mind of Europe was with us ; and 



180 RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 

we received from every philosopher, poet, or patriot 
of the day, cheerings of gratulation. They wept 
at our disasters, they rejoiced in our victories. 
They felt it as their own triumph, when, for the 
first time in the annals of man, the parent and the 
sovereign power acknowledged by the treaty of 
1783, the rightful independence of the reproached, 
rebellious child, and the rightful establishment, in 
full sovereignty, of a new empire. 

But let ns withdraw our dazzled gaze from the 
extended epic painting of National glory and prowess 
crowded with personages, lighted by the volcanic 
blaze of battles, and shaded by darkening clouds of 
sorrow and disaster, and look with endeared emo- 
tions of tenderness and love, at the miniature of 
the parent state. 

Men of Rhode Island, you are the descendants of 
those who were twice pilgrims ; the descendants 
of the victims of a double persecution. This fact 
of your origin has shaped your whole political 
character, influenced all your political movements, 
from the time of your feeble association, in the 
depths of the forests of this then houseless land, to 
the present moment ; and may God grant it always 
may so influence, and direct you. You are the 
descendants, equally with those who take pride 



RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 181 

from this descent, of those puritans and independents, 
who fled from religious persecution in England, in 
the hope of enjoying religious freedom here. Why 
your forefathers did not, could not, enjoy it, is a 
dark passage in the history of a sister state, which 
we would gladly expunge, if it were not a record 
necessary to prove your genealogy and birthright. 

The basis of your political institution, was not 
merely toleration, but a perfect freedom in mat- 
ters of religious concernment. No nice excep- 
tions, no insulting indigencies, which, while they 
allow the exercise of voluntary worship, deny the 
right, and pretend to confer a favor — deface the 
consistent beauty of our plan. Every aspirant to 
Almighty favor, in the sincerity of his devotion, 
has a perfect, unobstructed, inobstructible right, to 
seek it in the way he thinks fit. He may choose 
the simplest or the richest form. He may drink 
the waters of life, in rude simplicity, from the palm 
of his hand, from the crystal cup of reformed 
episcopacy, or from the embossed and enchased 
golden chalice of papal gorgeousness. Your ances- 
tors announced this opinion and enjoyed its legal 
exercise, long before the able and amiable Roman 
Catholic Lord Baltimore, or the sagacious and 

benevolent Quaker William Penn, adopted and 
17 



1S2 RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 

enforced it. In this great discovery, you have the 
incontestible merit of priority. This is a glory of 
which you cannot be robbed, a glory which no 
historian dare pass by unnoticed ; though he may 
be born in a land which reluctantly eulogizes, what 
it secretly evinces, the proud pre-eminence in 
effectuating that, which has contributed to the 
repose and felicity of mankind, more than any 
other discovery or declaration : saving that of the 
Gospel, whence it was borrowed, and from which 
it necessarily results. For we have its clear authority 
for the assertion, that " where the spirit of the Lord 
is, there is Liberty," — and that his service is perfect 
freedom. This freedom is not only unconquerable, 
but it must conquer. Opposition to it makes mar- 
tyrs, but never slaves. 

Where this principle is, there is a largeness of 
thought, a loftiness of conception, that naturally 
breaks the way, and opens the avenues to political 
rights and enjoyments. Wherever this freedom 
exists, political freedom co-exists. This is not too 
broad a position, but at any rate fearless of contra- 
diction, we may assert that civil and political liberty, 
cannot be long securely maintained, without religious 
freedom. What man can deem himself free, when 
in the primary concern and consolation of his present, 



RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 183 

and the hopes and fears of his future existence, he 
is shackled by authority, debarred from light, and 
taught to shrink from a vagrant uprising thought of 
non-comformity to the prescribed creed, as blas- 
phemy and enmity towards God ? Political Free- 
dom, with cautious, not with timid step, though 
with her person half concealed, and the brightness 
of her glory veiled, attended in the train of the 
protestant Reformation in Europe. In the North 
American Colonies, she marched with a fearless and 
defying tread and bearing, and, with a voice some- 
times loud and dread, sometimes soft and composed, 
scattered dismay over her foes, or breathed hope 
and condolence to her votaries ; because her way 
was opened by her pioneer — because she was 
strengthened, sustained, and invincibly secured, by 
her heaven-born sister, religious freedom. 

You never would have been, you never could 
have been, what you have been, and what you 
politically are, unless for the principles of religious, 
always followed and accompanied by those of po- 
litical freedom. They both were equally and 
simultaneously adopted and consecrated by your 
institutions. Your ancestors always had a spirit, 
and a daring, an original, unaccommodating charac- 
ter, an insurgency and elasticity of mind, which 



184 RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 

cannot otherwise be accounted for. We deny it 
not. We always have been in Rhode-Island re- 
proached for heresy, both religious and political ; 
which word heresy, being rightly interpreted, unless 
I have forgotten my Greek, from which language 
the word is derived, means the atrocious offence, of 
the assertion of a man's own opinion. The spirit 
of these remarks, emanates from our legislative 
history. The charter ultimately procured by the 
talents, address, and good fortune of Clarke, under 
the form of a corporation, has all the essentials of 
a well-tempered democracy. The king, after he 
granted it, virtually excluded himself from any 
interference with it. He had no viceroy, he had 
no veto on the laws of the colony. We endured 
not his actual or constructive presence. 

We preserved the charter as the talisman of our 
being, the palladium of our rights, the idol of our 
affections. Awaiting the revolution of 1688, we 
temporized, and though the charter had been, so far 
as irregular power could do it, annulled, after that 
glorious event, the revolution of 1688, we went on 
acting under it, without clamor or apology, as un- 
harmed and unforfeited. When the mother country 
was in the right, or we thought it so, nothing could 
surpass the energy and enthusiasm of our patriotism, 



RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 185 

Under the fascinating influence of the administration 
of the elder Pitt, we sent 500 men into the Canadian 
expedition. We assisted, and more than in our 
proportion assisted, in the siege and conquest of the 
Havana. The truth is, that our consciousness of 
military merit and fortitude, was taught us by that 
Canadian war. We were received, and at first 
despised as provincials ; but we were Yankees and 
learnt rapidly. We frequently relieved our royal and 
courtly associates, from the effect of error and panic 
by the skill of our just taught, almost self taught 
officers ; and we sustained them by the unbroken 
fortitude, or the hardy enterprise of men, who 
habituated to the exercise of self opinion, and prompt 
in invention of all the means necessary to an end, 
and undaunted in their execution, knew not despair 
or sickness of heart. This fact is of much more 
importance in the history of our revolution, than 
has been assigned to it. We had fought by the 
side of British officers and soldiers, and though we 
did not in the result despise them, we were by no 
means taught to despise ourselves. This was true 
in a certain sense of all the colonies, but the feel- 
ings arising out of these transactions, operated much 
more decidedly in Rhode-Island, on account of the 
immense disproportion of our levies, compared to 
17* 



186 RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 

our population. This was the secret cause of our 
not being dismayed by the threats of regular troops, 
of the king's forces, of fleets, that would batter and 
conflagrate our towns. We were unintimidated by 
fulminations of devastation, and extermination. 
Here, in Rhode Island, we spurred on the contest. 
We had spirits that were solicitous to hasten events, 
and render battle inevitable. 

Before the enactment, or during the negligent 
enforcement of the English Laws of Trade, we 
grew up with prodigious thriftiness. The new 
system adopted after the peace of 1763, not only 
checked our commerce, but indicated a systematic 
design of oppression. Of this design we had an 
intuitive conception, and to it an invincible repug- 
nance. It has lately been stated by a British min- 
ister in the House of Commons, "that however the 
attempt at taxation might be viewed as the imme- 
diate cause of the American explosion, yet the train 
had been long laid, in the severe and unbending 
efforts of England to extend more rigorously than 
ever the Laws of Trade. " Every little case," he 
says, " that was brought before the Board of Trade, 
was treated with the utmost severity." The two 
really great cases that occurred, originated here. 
The first was the attack at Newport on the 17th 



RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 187 

June 1769, of the armed revenue sloop Liberty, 
whose captain had been guilty of some oppressions 
and enormities. She was attacked by a band of 
unknown people, who cut her cables, let her drive 
on shore on the point, where they cut away her 
masts, scuttled her, carried both her boats to the 
recently planted Liberty Tree, at the upper end of 
the town, and burnt them. The second was the 
affair of the Gaspee on the 9th of June 1772. The 
first blood that was shed in the revolutionary con- 
test, by that very act begun, stained her deck, and 
it was drawn by a Rhode Island hand. The blood 
of Lieutenant Duddington, was the first blood drawn 
in the American cause. 

We are obliged to read in our own American 
books, disquisitions, almost controversial, on the 
question, " who gave the first impulse to the ball of 
the revolution," as some in degrading metaphor 
have chosen to express the thought. I have been 
compelled to listen upon this topic, to inflated de- 
clamation, rather than just argument, from grave 
senators, on the question, whether Virginia or 
Massachusetts struck the first and decisive blow. 
The debate, in feigned mutual difference, and 
sweet complacency, always proceeded on the 
thought, that those two most important and mer- 



188 RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 

itorious states, solely begun, sustained and accom- 
plished the revolution. That all the other states, 
had hardly an interest or a participation. Rhode 
Island and the Gaspee it was always convenient to 
forget. It is from foreign, and impartial historians, 
that we are reminded of the relative importance of 
that deed, which first impressed a bloody hue on 
our proceeding, and doomed its perpetrators, if the 
virtue of the country could have permitted their 
detection, to irremissible death. 

As to the effect produced by this daring act, and 
its baffled prosecution, the dread of ministerial 
vengeance, and the deep but calm determination to 
meet that vengeance, I must depend on tradition, 
and appeal to the recollections of the few survivors, 
of that portentous period. The effect was univer- 
sal. The flames of the Gaspee seem to have been 
not only seen, but felt throughout the continent. 

Independence, unqualified independence, was the 
aim of Rhode-Island, and it proceeded accordingly. 
In 1774 you did an act, if possible, more positive, 
daring, and decisive, more unequivocally indicative 
of your warlike spirit and your determination to be 
independent. You rose, as the British lawyers 
said, from common felony to high and atrocious 
treason. As soon as the proclamation, prohibiting 



RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 189 

the importation of arms from England, was known 
here, you dismantled the king's fort at Newport, 
and took possession of 40 pieces of cannon. All 
our leading men, not only had at heart, but avowed 
the same sentiment as that contained in General 
Greene's letter to Governor Ward, then a member 
of the first Congress, dated on the 4th of June, 
1774, at the camp on Prospect hill. " Permit me," 
says he then, " to recommend from the sincerity of 
my heart, ready at all times to bleed in my country's 
cause, a declaration of independence, and call upon 
the world and the great God who governs it, to 
witness the propriety and rectitude thereof." We 
anticipated Congress in the declaration of indepen- 
dence : for, by a solemn act of our General Assem- 
bly, we dissolved all connexion with Great Britain, 
in the May previous. We withdrew our allegi- 
ance from the king, and renounced his govern- 
ment forever, and, in a declaration of independence 
we put down in a condensed, logical statement, our 
unanswerable reasons for so doing. I drew my 
facts from records, nothing is colored or exagge- 
rated. 

Our conduct in the war, was in perfect keeping 
with our previous character. The news of the 
battle of Lexington, reached this town on the eve- 



190 RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 

ning of the same day, the 19th of April, 1776. In 
spite of the evasions and vacillations of the Gover- 
nor and Lieutenant-Governor, three days after 
you poured your hasty levies of militia, a large 
detaehment 7 into Massachusetts. In the same year 
you raised and had in service 1200 regular troops. 
You afterwards raised three state regiments, and 
this from a population of about 50,000 souls — an 
astonishing fact ! According to Gibbon, the calcu- 
lation confirmed by the experience of all ages, is 
that a community that sends into the field more 
than the one hundredth part of its population, will 
soon perish from exhaustion. You did vastly more 
than this — voluntarily more than Bonaparte in his 
severest conscription ever dared demand. The 
truth is, your spirit was high and warm, your gen- 
erosity reckless, your soaring, romantic. It is one 
of the few evils amidst the innumerable blessings 
of a confederacy, composed of states of unequal 
territory and population that the small must from 
the nature of things, contribute more in proportion 
than the larger state ; it can be more easily con- 
gregated and excited. The flashes of sentiment 
are conducted from one to another, and to the 
whole with electric celerity. The citizens are 
prompt in the performance of what they promptly 



RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 191 

resolve. They bear the burden, they fight th< 
battle, they shout the victory, and returning fron 
its well fought field, descry the tardy contingent 
of larger and perhaps wiser states, plodding thei 
cautious way to see, to admire and perchance t< 
envy, what has been done. 

You took high ground by your members ii 
Congress, as to the mode of conducting the wai 
You endeavored to give it a naval cast. Distin 
guished for your commercial marine, and for the 
enterprize and intrepidity of your mariners, you felt 
the necessity and urged the expediency of naval 
military exertion. The first little fleet, the germ, 
the nautilus of our present naval character and fame, 
was commanded by a native Rhode-Islander, Com- 
modore Esek Hopkins, who surprised New Provi- 
dence, captured the governor, lieutenant governor 
and other officers of the crown, seized a hundred 
pieces of cannon, and carried off all the munitions 
of war from the island. The island was occupied 
for weeks, and with what is and I hope ever will 
be the characteristic of American and Rhode-Island 
commanders, with a most scrupulous respect for 
private property and individual feeling. 

My humble attempt, hitherto, has been that of 
suggesting the general national spirit that led to, 



192 RHODE-ISLAND DURING THE REVOLUTION. 

and effected, our revolution, and the particular, but 
efficient share that, from institution, character and 
pre-disposition, Rhode-Island contributed to the 
main design. This last attempt, will be blamed, 
as fostering a delusive vanity, and deceptive self- 
esteem. But it individuals have a natural right to 
feel a generous consciousness of a pure and virtuous 
ancestry — if the Romans placed in the vestibules of 
their houses, the statues of their progenitors, that 
they might, by beholding them as they passed, be 
excited to a rivalry of their excellence, surely you 
as a state, have a peculiar and indubitable right, to 
indulge in a state pride. It is justified from the 
purified and pious motives which impelled to your 
primary institution, as a body politic, and which 
conducted, continued, and upheld you in the same 
direction, through all your difficulties, dangers, and 
distresses, through good report and evil report, even 
unto the end. That, which in the individual is a 
selfish or absurd vanity, diffused, mitigated, and 
generalized b)^ a community, is patriotism — the 
cement of union — the spring of virtuous emulation 
— the nurse of lofty thoughts, and the impulse of 
heroic deeds. Rhode-Island has had as yet no 
historian ; of our heroes and sages it may indeed be 
said — "they had no poet, and they died." 



193 
THE BATTLE OF BENNINGTON 

BY THOMAS P, RODMAN. 

Up through a cloudy sky, the sun 

Was buffeting his way, 
On such a morn as ushers in 

A sultry August day. 
Hot was the air — and hotter yet 

Men's thoughts within them grew : 
They Britons, Hessians, Tories saw — 

They saw their homesteads too. 

They thought of all their country's wrongs, 

They thought of noble lives 
Poured out in battle with her foes, 

They thought upon their wives, 
Their children and their aged sires, 

Their firesides, churches, God — 
And these deep thoughts made hallowed ground 

Each foot of soil they trod. 

Their leader was a brave old man, 

A man of earnest will ; 
His very presence was a host — ■ 

He'd fought at Bunker Hill. 
A living monument he stood 

Of stirring deeds of fame, 
18 



194 BATTLE OF BENNINGTON. 

Of deeds that shed a fadeless light 
On his own deathless name. 

Of Charlestown's flames, of Warren's bloody 

His presence told the tale, 
It made each hero's heart beat high 

Though lip and cheek grew pale ; 
It spoke of Princetown, Morristown, 

Told Trenton's thrilling story — 
It lit futurity with hope, 

And on the past shed glory. 

Who were those men, their leader who 1 

Where stood they on that morn ? 
The men were Berkshire yeomanry, 

Brave men as e'er were born, — 
Who in the reaper's merry row 

Or warrior rank could stand ; 
Right worthy such a noble troop, 

John Stark led on the band. 

Wollamsac wanders by the spot 

Where they that morning stood ; 
Then rolled the war cloud o'er the stream r 

The waves were tinged with blood ; 
And the near hills that dark cloud girt 

And fires like lightning flashed, 
And shrieks and groans like howling blasts 

Rose as the bayonets clashed. 



BATTLE OF BENNINGTON. 195 

The night before, the Yankee host 

Came gathering from afar, 
And in each belted bosom glowed 

The spirit of the war. 
All full of fight through rainy storm, 

Night, cloudy, starless, dark 
They came, and gathered as they came, 

Around the valiant Stark. 

There was a Berkshire parson — he 

And all his flock were there, 
And like true churchmen militant 

The arm of flesh made bare. 
Out spake the Dominie and said, 

" For battle have we come 
These many times, and after this 

We mean to stay at home." 

If now we come in vain, said Stark, 

What ! will you go to-night 
To battle it with yonder troops. 

God send us morning light, 
And we will give you work enough : 

Let but the morning come, 
And if ye hear no voice of war, 

Go back and stay at home. 

The morning came — there stood the foe, 
Stark eyed them as they stood — 



196 BATTLE OF BENNINGTON. 

Few words he spake — 't was not a time 1 

For moralising mood. 
" See there the enemy,, my boys ! 

Now strong in valor's might, 
Beat them, or Molly Stark will sleep 

In widowhood to-night." 

Each soldier there had left at home 

A sweetheart, wife, or mother, 
A blooming sister, or, perchance, 

A fair-haired, blue-eyed brother. 
Each from a fireside came, and thoughts 

Those simple words awoke 
That nerved up every warrior's arm 

And guided every stroke* 

Fireside and woman — mighty words ! 

How wondrous is the spell 
They work upon the manly heart, 

Who knoweth not full well ? 
And, than the women of this land, 

That never land hath known 
A truer, prouder hearted race, 

Each Yankee boy must own. 

Brief eloquence was Stark's — nor vain— 
Scarce uttered he the words, 

When burst the musket's rattling pea" 
Out leaped the flashing swords j 



BATTLE OF BENNINGTON. 197 

And when brave Stark in after time 

Told the proud tale of wonder 
He said the battle din was one 

" Continual clap of thunder." 

Two hours they strove — then victory crowned 

The gallant Yankee boys. 
Nought but the memory of the dead 

Bedimmed their glorious joys ; 
Aye — there's the rub — the hour of strife, 

Though follow years of fame, 
Is still in mournful memory linked 

With some death -hallowed name. 

The cypress with the laurel twines — ■ 

The psean sounds a knell, 
The trophied column marks the spot 

Where friends and brothers fell. 
Fame's mantle a funereal pall 

Seems to the grief dimmed eye, 
For ever where the bravest fall 

The best beloved die. 



18* 



198 



THE EFFECTS OF SIxN, 

BY REV. FRANCIS VINTON. 

When man came forth from the hands of God, 
he was upright, holy, perfect j and God pronounced 
him very good. 

Not one stain of sin tarnished his moral nature. 
He was the image of God. Not a pang, nor a 
sorrow troubled his soul. He was the mirror of 
the divine happiness because he reflected the divine 
holiness. In original humanity what harmony, 
what beauty dwelt ! It was a harp of many 
strings ; but all were tuned by the Maker, and 
were struck into music by a heaven taught hand. 
It was a glorious humanity. Each faculty indeed 
was distinct like the colors of the rainbow, but they 
all were combined and melted into one another, 
shining forth as the brightness of the Father's 
glory — and as man trod the ground, the earth beheld 
the likeness of God. 

Man sinned — the harp was broken — the strings 
were untuned, and instead of harmony, was discord. 
He sinned — the mirror was in fragments, each was 
stained, and soiled, and now reflected the distorted 
image of the Maker. 



THE EFFECTS OF SIN. L99 

Man sinned. And the beauty of those blended 
colors was destroyed. Instead of the mild, and 
genial radiance of sunshine, was the glaring of fire. 
Hot passions burned furiously in that heart where 
pure affections had shone gently, and this altar of 
heaven became a laboratory of hell. — Man sinned. 
The fresh, and laughing earth now groaned. The 
thorn, and thistle now sprang forth. The eye of 
the lion, and the tiger now shot glances of enmity, 
and savage lust, ravenous desires, and cruelty now 
circulated throughout the animate creation. 

Man sinned, and all was cursed. Death made 
havoc first in Paradise, and sent decay, and sickness 
over every created thing. The exquisite body of 
man, which had stood like a finished temple, mon- 
umental of the skill of its architect, crumbled. 
Next to the soul, it was death's chiefest prey, and 
under his touch it was dissolved into dust. In the 
strong language of Scripture " Death reigned." He 
was Lord paramount over earth, and swayed his 
sceptre as king of terrors. By one man sin entered 
into the world, and death by sin, and so death 
passed upon all men. He was indeed an enemy. 
Had sin spoiled man alone, its ravages had been 
less fearful ; but every creature was made subject 
to vanity, and delivered over to the bondage of cor- 



200 ODE TO THE POPPY. 

ruption, and so the whole creation groaneth and 
travaileth together in pain until now. All evil, and 
all death, are the fruits of the sin of Adam. The 
curse was upon all things, and annihilation brooded 
on every creature that God had made. 



ODE TO THE POPPY. 

BY CYNTHIA TAGGART.* 

Though varied wreaths of myriad hues, 

As beams of mingling light, 
Sparkle replete with pearly dews, 
Waving their tinted leaves profuse, 
To captivate the sight : 

Though fragrance, sweet exhaling, blend 

With the soft, balmy air ; 
And gentle zephyrs, wafting wide, 
Their spicy odors bear ; 
While to the eye, 
Delightingly, 
Each floweret laughing blooms, 
And o'er the fields 
Prolific, yields 
Its incense of perfumes ; 

*Note 3.— See Appendix. 



ODE TO THE POPPY. 201 

Yet one alone o'er all the plain, 

With lingering eye I view ; 
Hasty, I pass the brightest bower, 
Heedless of each attractive power. 

Its brilliance to pursue. 

No odors sweet proclaim the spot, 
Where its soft leaves unfold ; 

Xor mingled hues of beauty bright 
Charm and allure the captive sight, 
With forms and tints untold. 

One simple hue the plant portrays 
Of glowing radiance rare, 

Fresh as the roseate morn displays, 
And seeming sweet and fair. 



-- 



But closer prest, an odorous breath 

Repels the rover gay ; 
And from her hand with eager haste 

'T is careless thrown away ; 

And thoughtless, that in evil hour 
Disease may happiness devour, 
And her fair form, elastic now, 

To misery's wand may hopeless bow. 

Then Reason leads sad Sorrow forth, 
To seek this lonely flower ; 



202 ODE TO THE POPPY. 

And blest experience kindly proves 
Its mitigating power. 

Then, its bright hue the sight can trace, 

The brilliance of its bloom ; 
Though misery veil the weeping eyes, 
Though sorrow choke the breath with sighs, 

And life deplore its doom. 

This magic flower 

In desperate hour, 
A balsam mild shall yield, 

When the sad, sinking heart 

Feels every aid depart, 
And every gate of hope forever sealed. 

Then shall its potent charm 

Each agony disarm, 
And its all-healing power shall respite give. 

The frantic sufferer, then, 

Convulsed and wild with pain, 
Shall own the sovereign remedy, and live. 

The dews of slumber, now, 

Rest on her aching brow ; 
And o'er the languid lids, balsamic fall ; 

While fainting nature hears, 

With dissipated fears, 
The lowly accents of soft Somnus' call. 



THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 203 

Then will affection twine 

Around this kindly flower ; 
And grateful memory keep, 
How, in the arms of sleep, 

Affliction lost its power. 



THOUGHTS ONEDUCATION. 

BY ZACHARIAH ALLEN. 

However varied are the occupations of men, one 
pursuit is common to all, that of happiness. The 
principal obstacle to success in this pursuit, is igno- 
rance ; — ignorance of the rational mode of obtain- 
ing it. 

Plato often repeated to his disciples, ''that all 
vice springs from ignorance ;" and that it is a want 
of proper instruction alone, that can lead a man into 
the great mistake of following a vicious course, 
because it seems to lead directly to some good, 
greater than any which a virtuous course may 
promise. A practical statesman of the present age, 
the King of Prussia, in accordance with the doctrine 
of Plato, considers that no parent has a right to in- 
flict so great an injury on society, as to bring up his 
child in ignorance ; and has enforced by compulsory 



204 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 

laws on all parents in his dominions, the duty of 
attending to the cultivation of the minds of their 
children. 

Euclid maintained, that knowledge only is re- 
quired to direct every man in the path most condu- 
cive to his happiness, and boldly asserted the 
startling doctrine, deduced from this proposition, 
that "there is actually no necessary evil." In 
illustration of this doctrine, one of the most popular 
philosophers of our own time, Mr. Combe, observes, 
that under the benign influence of Christianity and 
revelation, the most delightful view in which the 
goodness and beneficence of the Almighty can be 
placed before us, is, that the constitution of our 
natures, and the moral laws by which the world is 
governed, are such as lead always to good when 
their dictates are obeyed : whereas the least in- 
fringement of them is attended by some warning, 
erroneously called evil. Education will teach us 
that all which we call evil, is in reality most be- 
nevolently designated for good, as it is a warning 
for our instruction, to return to, or adopt the proper 
course ; — the course prescribed by those laws ; that, 
in fact, "evil does not, cannot exist." 

When the improvement of the mind, the source 
and seat of enjoyment is left neglected, it is not a 



THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 205 

matter of surprise that dissatisfaction should be ex- 
perienced by those, who with undue zeal devote 
their time and exertions to gaining wealth or fame, 
or to the indulgence of sensual pleasures. Even 
Solomon required the practical lessons of experience 
to discover, that the engrossing pursuit of them, is 
nothing but " vanity and vexation of spirit." 

In the liberal professions, should unintermitted 
cares of business exclusively absorb attention, the 
scholar may become inferior in mental cultivation 
to many mechanics ; and although situated on the 
brink of the fountain of science, he may then devote 
himself rather to stooping down in search of gold 
among the sands, than to tasting of the inspiring 
waters. 

To the young man, entering on the active scenes 
of life, with generous feelings of ambition to excel, 
a taste for the acquisition of knowledge renders 
him cheerful and happy, and proves a safeguard to 
preserve him from temptations to evil. Refined 
mental enjoyments, and gross, debasing pleasures are 
seldom relished by the same individual. The one 
or the other will speedily assume the control over 
the mind, which rarely acknowledges a divided 
empire. It is like Mohammedan fatalism voluntari- 
ly to remain in ignorance of the knowledge that may 
19 



206 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 

deliver us from evil j ©r like the rashness of the 
mariner, who launches his bark to navigate the 
wide ocean, and neglects to make use of the discov- 
eries of science to direct his course and to preserve 
him from the perils of the deep. 

Theatrical exhibitions would comparatively lose 
their demoralizing attractions, were magnificent 
theatres erected for the interesting display of splen- 
did philosophical lectures and experiments, and 
were men of science and eloquence recompensated 
with a liberality equal to that bestowed upon Opera 
dancers. It is only necessary to lend the aid of the 
charms of music and painting, in brilliantly illum- 
inated halls, to those of eloquent public lecturers, to 
produce excitement on the minds of the young, and 
to ensure the decision of the public taste in their 
favor. Properly qualified, eloquent lecturers, are 
now wanting to minister to this improved public 
taste : and no professional occupation would be 
more productive of certain and munificent emolu- 
ment. 

The political axiom of our republican code of 
government, affirming that all men are born equal, 
goes no further than to place men on the same 
footing or standing in the great race of human com- 
petition. Education, partially diffused, has the 



THOUGHTS OX EDUCATION. 207 

immediate effect to produce inequality ; for mental 
powers unimproved are of as little avail as the churl's 
politeness, who said that he was born with as much 
as Chesterfield himself, and was confident that he 
had never diminished his stock by use. 

It is not by classing the learned, the good and 
the great men of our land on a level with the indo- 
lent and vicious, that men are to be brought to a 
happy state of equality : but on the contrary by 
exalting the poor and the depressed by means of 
the diffusion of knowledge. General and thorough 
education is the true levelling principle. By the 
aid of very limited means of self instruction, persons 
commencing life as humble day laborers, have risen 
and will continue to rise, to the first distinctions of 
honor in our country. Although it is certain that 
mechanics do not often become philosophers, yet it 
is equally certain that they have, by means of self 
instruction become the greatest of philosophers. 
With laudable inducements to tempt him forward 
in his inventions, the mechanic feels in a degree 
the ardor which inspires the philosopher or the sol- 
dier, to leave a name that will survive in the recol- 
lection of successive generations, as long as the 
grass continue to cover with fresh verdure, the 
earth above his grave. After thousands of years 



208 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 

shall have rolled away, and the very monuments of 
philosophers, statesmen and warriors of renown 
shall have been crumbled to dust, the multitude of 
human beings who may then people this earth, will 
as frequently recur to the popular name of him, 
whose genius first introduced the use of the steam- 
boat and enabled man to overpower the swift 
currents of adverse tides, as to the memory of 
Newton who explained the great laws that govern 
those tides. 

Although a young man may fail in his attempts 
to amass wealth, to enable him to make a distin- 
guished appearance in the gay circles of fashion, 
yet it is in his power to qualify himself by mental 
cultivation, to associate with a superior class of men, 
who value the aristocracy of mind, above that of 
wealth. He may thus attain a more truly respecta- 
ble standing, and enjoy more rational pleasures, than 
the absorbing pursuit of wealth can afford. On 
every side he will find objects to interest and 
delight. Should he engage in the study of animal 
life, a vast range for research is presented him. in 
the thousands of species of animals and of the insect 
tribes. Of animalculae, the numbers are beyond the 
power of computation, and their minuteness is 
still more wonderful ; as a few cubic feet of sea 



THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 209 

water gives full scope for all the enjoyments of 
vitality to more of them, than there are human 
inhabitants on the earth. Yet all these minute 
beings exhibit to the eye of the scientific observer, 
by the aid of glasses, perfectly organized structures 
like those of large animals, having arteries, nerves 
and circulating blood. If he turn his attention to 
Botany he will find that seventy or eighty thousand 
distinct species of plants decorate the surface of the 
earth with their bright colors, or vegetate in the 
dark caves of the ocean. 

Days may be passed in admiring the varied forms 
and glowing tints of the different classes of shells. 
Mountains are formed of the limestone, products of 
shell-fish, and countless islands of the sea have been 
created by the coral reefs, constructed by a feeble 
worm. The earliest history of the earth itself the 
student will find recorded in the impressions, on 
buried rocks, from whence the petrified remains of 
numerous, and now extinct species of animal and 
vegetables are constantly brought to light. 

In addition to all these are the numerous subjects 
contained in the long catalogue of useful knowledge, 
which are adapted to improve and elevate the mind. 
But if he flag in his ardor for investigating ter- 
restrial objects, he has only to lift his eyes to the 
19* 



210 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 

glorious firmament of Heaven. His imagination in 
the boldness of its flight, may visit unseen worlds, 
numerous as particles of floating dust, until wearied 
in its boundless course, it may at last rest in silent 
awe before the throne of Him who created them. 

Oh ! cold indeed must be the feelings of that 
man who can contemplate all these objects without 
emotion. But the ordinary term of human life 
would neither be sufficient to learn nor to relate in de- 
tail, all the interesting works of creation. Were we 
able to attempt a narration of them, the decrepitude 
of age might steal over us, and still our task would 
be but commenced. The dull, cold ear of death 
would at last remain insensible to the voice that 
might be addressed to it, in continued utterance of 
the exhaustless descriptions. But the pleasing hope 
may animate us, that gathered from time to eternity 
and joining with the worshipping host of Heaven, 
it may constitute a part of our happiness, as all 
seeing, celestial spirits, to rejoice in beholding clearly 
and comprehensibly, and not as now " through a 
glass darkly," with the feeble vision of montal eyes, 
the interminable display of the wondrous works of 
our great Creator. 



211 



PETTIQUAMSCOTT.* 

BY EMMA EOBINSON. 

What e'er can warm the imagination, 
Please the eye, or charm the ear ; 

In enchanting variation, 

Bounteous nature lavished here. 

Pious awe and sweet composure 
This sequestered gloom inspires, 

And from this secure enclosure 
Ever}' ruder thought retires. 

Here the waters idly sporting, 
Fondly woo the grassy shore ; 

And more calm recesses courting, 
Shun the ocean's stormy war. 

Here, more tranquil joys pursuing, 
Pettiquamscott steals away ; 

Oft his peaceful course reviewing, 
Winds along with sweet delay. 

Moss-grown rocks their heads erecting, 
Heighten still the pleasing gloom ; 

And their circling flowers protecting, 
Bid them unmolested bloom. 



* Near Point Judith. 






212 THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 

Here the birds the sunbeams flying. 
Nature's inspiration sing ; 

Echo to their voice replying, 

Makes the neighboring valleys ring* 

This fair spot with partial pleasure, 
Pettiquamscott's arms entwine ; 

Leaves with pain his favorite treasure. 
Parting feels regret like mine. 

Soon again thy waves returning, 
Shall embrace this peaceful shore ; 

Fate my fondest wishes spurning 
Bids me different scenes explore. 

Follow still thy sweet employment 

Wave ye woods, ye oceans roar ; 
You shall give sublime enjoyment, 

When your Emma is no more. 

1785. 



THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 

BY THE REV. WILLIAM HAGUE. 

The importance of cultivating a correct taste for 
natural and moral beauty has often been inculcated 
by the novelist and philosopher, the preacher and 
the poet. Its effects prove its worth. It expands 
the mind and refines the heart, it alleviates the ills 



/ 



THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 213 

of life, and multiplies its joys, it soothes the agita- 
tions of the troubled bosom and throws a genial 
sunlight around the calm and placid spirit ; it con- 
stantly opens new and pleasing paths of pursuit, leads 
to new springs of happiness, and diffuses its own 
fresh charm around the whole creation. He who 
has cultivated as he may, his natural susceptibility 
of deriving delight from the beautiful in nature or 
the sublime in morals, trie lights of science or the 
charms of art, has within himself a source of high 
enjoyment, which delivers him from the thraldom of 
gross appetite, the corrosion of petty cares, and the 
many irritations which arise amid the hurry and tu- 
mult of life. Tile more delicate his taste becomes, 
the more nice is he in his discrimination of charac- 
ter, the more keenly alive to the pleasures of friend- 
ship, the more susceptible of the soft and tender 
emotions, the more delighted with tranquil scenes, 
the more disposed to calm reflection. He has a zest 
for joys of which others do not dream, and even the 
character of his sorrows is peculiar, for they are 
changed into an agreeable melancholy which soothes 
the heart that feels its weight, and has a natural 
affinity for all that is exalted in genius, or tender in 
sympathy, or commanding in moral greatness, or 
flowing in fancy. Such an one. though familiar 



214 THE CULTIVATION OP TASTE. 

with the world in which the worldling lives, yet 
lives himself in a world which we may call his own. 
He sees glories around him to which others are 
blind. He hears a music, which others do not hear. 
He feels a rapture which is real, but which he can 
not communicate, and in which only kindred minds 
can sympathize. Not that the elements of his nature 
differ from those others, only they are differently 
developed. The boor who gazes at night upon the 
vaulted firmament, sees nothing there but " twink- 
ling lamps to light him home." The man of culti- 
vated taste sees worlds on worlds, an " infinite 
amaze," a scene of wondrous order and magnificence, 
proclaiming the Creator's presence and making 
known that he is Love ; the moon walking in hei 
brightness, 

And nightly to the listening earth 
Repeats the story of her birth, 
While all the stars around her burn, 
And all the planets in their turn 
Confirm the tidings as they roll 
And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

But while the importance of cultivating good taste 
may be conceded in general terms, the question 
may arise, what is good taste ? Is there any thing- 
fixed in its character ? Are there any established 
principles by which it is governed ? Is there any 



THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 215 

room for appeal beyond a man's own feelings re- 
specting what is truly beautiful ? Has it not long 
since passed into a popular maxim " de gustibus 
non disputandum'" aud is it not bringing a question 
at once to an issue, to say of the subject of it, " it 
is a mere matter of taste ?" In regard to what is 
true and what is false, we may appeal from opinions 
to facts. We may show what has real existence. 
But in regard to what is beautiful and what is de- 
formed, can we appeal to any thing beyond the 
sentiment of the mind ? It is the mind which 
throws out its own inward light over various objects 
and thence views them as beautiful. 

Mind, mind alone (bear witness earth and Heaven) 
The living fountains in itself contains 
Of beauteous and sublime ; here hand in hand 
Sit paramount the Graces. 

Thence if I feel any thing to be beautiful, is it not 
therefore, truly beautiful, and even more beauteous 
still, because I cannot see why it is so ? 

Undoubtedly it is true that there is in no object 
an inherent beauty any more than there is inherent 
color ; that it is the mind which conceives the idea 
of beauty and connects it with the external object — 
the mind which, by its sensibility and its power of 
association invests the universe with its loveliness. 



216 THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 

But then, has not the inward world its laws 
as well as the outward ? Is not the one adjusted 
to the other ? Is there not a harmony in their op- 
erations ? May not the moral sense and the sense 
of beauty be as uniform and determinate as the 
animal senses, though modified like every part of 
human nature, by circumstances ? What if a man 
should declare that the monotonous tones of a public 
crier are as musical and beautiful as the varied in- 
tonations of the orator on whose lips senates hang 
enraptured ? Or, that the notes which reach his 
ear from the hand-organ borne by the music-grinder 
through the street, are as beautiful and elevating as 
those which break from the mighty instrument of 
Harlem, when, under the touch of a master's hand, 
it pours its bounding notes along ? Or, what if one 
should see as much beauty in the paltry decorations 
of an eastern Pagoda as in the simple front of the 
Pantheon, or the majestic dome of St. Peter's ? Or, 
what if one should be delighted to place amidst a 
group of pendant willows in a cemetery the tall and 
straight limbed poplar, which presents not a mere 
contrast, but a direct opposition of features ? In 
such cases our sensibility to beauty is somewhat 
shocked ; all feel that some law of nature is violated, 
and look on him who so confounds things that 



THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 217 

differ, or delights in aught so incongruous, as void of 
all taste. Hence we learn that there are established 
principles of taste, that the laws of this part of our 
constitution are as fixed as those of any other ; and 
that within its sphere, order reigns as wisely and 
supremely as in that part of speculative opinion. 
Yea, far more so. In the world of philosophy, 
Greece has long since ceased to rule, but in the 
realm of taste she is still the tl star ascendant." 
Her theories of nature have passed away like bril- 
liant dreams, but her works of taste still live to 
captivate the world. Her architecture still stands 
in all the dignity of its fair proportions, her statues 
still speak, her poetry still glows with living fire, 
her oratory still wakes a genial enthusiasm, as when 
it roused in the dormant multitude a voice like the 
voice of many waters and the voice of mighty thun- 
derings, crying " let us march against Philip, let us 
conquer or die." The speculations of Cicero have 
withered under the touch of time, but the eloquence 
which first stirred Roman blood, still quickens the 
pulsations of an American assembly. Longinus, 
who, centuries ago, swayed a mighty sceptre as the 
prince of critics, still stands invested with unfading 
honors. The theology of Milton has made but a 

slight impression on mankind, but his poetry will 
20 



218 THE CULTIVATION Off TASTE, 

warm the hearts and stimulate the intellects of far 
distant generations. The same Homer, who was 
once the delight of Greece, still pleases us ; the same 
Virgil, who was the boast and ornament of Rome, 
now receives every where the homage due to genius. 
The productions of mind which evince only great 
intellectual power, or depth of thought, or wide 
research, may yet be doomed to perish and be for- 
gotten ; but true beauty lives forever and wins a 
universal sway. 

Still, if beauty be not a mere airy fiction but a 
substantial reality, the question yet arises, how may 
we define that taste for beauty which may be justly 
designated as good and correct ? Objects which 
are regarded as beautiful in one age, are utterly neg- 
lected in another, and loathed in a third. During 
the prevalence of any particular fashion, it is deemed 
a proof of bad taste to decry it, and if one should 
attempt it, on what grounds could he justify him- 
self ? He might say of any ornament, or dress, or 
piece of music, " it offends me;" to which another 
might reply, " it pleases me ;" and so the argument 
is at an end. What then is the criterion of good 
taste? 

Here, it is worthy of remark, that there is an 
analogy between that faculty of the soul which we 



the Cultivation of taste. 219 

denominate Taste, and that Physical faculty which 
we call by the same name. The latter is given to 
us, not merely as a means of pleasure, but also in 
in order to distinguish between those substances 
which are good for food and those which are nox- 
ious. In a healthy state it answers this end. If, 
however, you observe an individual whose taste 
constantly craves varieties and stimulants, loathing 
those simple articles of refreshment which nature 
has so richly provided for us, you say at once, h is 
taste is perverted — it is at variance with the laws of 
his nature. There you strike a far-reaching princi- 
ple. If a man seek as food what oxhausts rather 
than nourishes his frame, if he is fascinated with 
what is ruinous, you say his taste is not in accord- 
ance with natural laws, and thence it is bad. The 
rule is universal. Good taste, either within the 
sphere of the material world, or the spiritual world, 
is that which is in harmony with the laws of the 
universe. The more you know of these, the more 
numerous criteria will you have to ascertain whether 
your taste be healthy or disordered. The more you 
study these with such views, the more conformed 
will your taste become, to that of the infinite and eter- 
nal mind, whose ideas of beauty are bodied forth in 
this vast creation, which, as at his bidding, it sprang 



220 THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE, 

from chaos into order, reflecting in all its heights 
and depths the beauteous and sublime conceptions 
of its author, he looked upon with delight, and pro- 
nounced it good. 

The power of perceiving beauty, of being fas- 
cinated with it, of receiving deeper and deeper 
impression from it, distinguishes a rational mind, 
and forms a part of that stamp of natural dignity, 
which was originally placed upon the brow of man. 
He was formed to look upon the material universe 
as a glorious mirror, reflecting every where goodness, 
grandeur, beauty, sublimity. 

What then is taste, but these internal powers, 
Active and strong, and feelingly alive 
To each fine impulse ? A discovering sense- 
Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust 
From things deformed, or disarranged, or gross 
In species ? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold^ 
Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow, 
But God alone, when first his active hand 
Imprints the secret bias of the soul. 

The mighty Parent, wise and just in all, 
Free as the vital breeze or light of Heaven 
Reveals the charms of Nature. Ask the swain 
Who journeys homeward from a summer day's 
Long labor, why forgetful of his toils, 
And due repose he loiters to behold 
The sunshine gleaming as thro' amber clouds 
O'er all the western sky. Full soon I ween, 
His rude expression and untutored airs, 
Beyond the power of language will unfold 
The form of beauty smiling at his heart, 
How lovely ! How commanding ! 



THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 221 

But although it be true that culture can never 
bestow the faculty of taste upon man, yet without 
culture the germ can never be developed. Now 
what are the means of cultivating it ? In answering 
this question, — 

Our first observation is, that if good taste be that 
which is in harmony with the laws of the universe, 
then the most important means of cultivating it, is 
to become acquainted with those laws. He who 
made the human mind, made all worlds, and a glori- 
ous harmony pervades them. He hath garnished 
the heavens, adorned the world with loveliness, 
and inspired the mind with a taste for beauty. The 
great fabric of creation through which order reigns, 
is the development of that love for natural and moral 
beauty, which dwelt from eternity in the Infinite 
mind. Our emotions of beauty, therefore, are mod- 
ified by an acquaintance with those laws which 
shine out in the operations of nature, either within 
the spiritual or the material realm. We are so con- 
stituted as to see a moral beauty in benevolence, 
and the more clearly we discern the law by which 
it is connected with peace of mind and social hap- 
piness, the more beauty shall we see in it and love 
it more. We are so formed as to admire the heroism 
which is enjoyed in sacrificing the pleasures of 
20* 



222 THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 

sense, or stores of gold to the interests of virtue ; and 
the more clearly we see the law, that man was 
created to obey his moral sentiments, which hold 
by right the throne of the soul, the more enamored 
shall we be with the beauty of virtue. 

This enlargement of mind of which we speak, 
produced by an extensive acquaintance with the 
laws of nature, physical or moral, with the estab- 
lished principles of art and science, will evidently 
affect our emotions of taste, by inducing new asso- 
ciations of ideas, and new trains of feeling. To a 
man entirely ignorant of the laws of Life, the slender 
compressed and tapering waist of a human form 
may seem beautiful, as the expression of delicacy, 
symmetry and refinement ; but let him conceive 
aright of the tender vital organs unnaturally cramped 
and denied the free and easy play so essential to life 
and health, then the spell would at once be broken, 
and pain succeed to pleasure. As the serpentine 
motion expressive of delicacy and ease, delights us 
in every case except that of the serpent itself, where 
the thought of malignity and peril is awakened, so 
here, the pleasure of discovering an extraordinary 
symmetry and delicacy of the human form is dis- 
pelled by the ideas of constraint, and pain, and 



THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 223 

danger, which a compression of that form tends 
always to produce. 

"Nothing is beautiful but what is true," say the 
Rhetoricians. This is a universal maxim. Con- 
formity to truth is beauty, real and permanent. 
Study nature. Seek truth. The laws of nature 
are distinguished by simplicity, and simplicity has 
an abiding charm whether it appear in literature or 
art, in character or manners. Thence affectation 
always displeases when it is discovered. Though 
affectation be the fashion, yet it appears contemptible 
as soon as it loses the delusive charm of novelty or 
a name. In France, fashion once declared for an 
affected negligence of dress. Thence we hear 
Montaigne saying, " I have never yet been apt to 
imitate the negligent garb, observable among the 
young men of our time, to wear my cloak on one 
shoulder, my bonnet on one side, and one stocking 
in somewhat more disorder than the other, meant to 
express a manly disdain of such exotic ornaments, 
and a contempt of art." There is no beauty in the 
cultivated negligence even of trifles. It is only 
that which is occasional, appropriate, and which 
indicates a mind engaged and absorbed in something 
worthy of it which truly pleases. Scott saw it in 
his Lady of the Lake, when he said, 



224 THE CULTIVATIOE OF TASTE. 

" With head upraised, and look intent, 
And eye and ear attentive bent, 
And locks flung back, and lips apart, 
Like monument of Grecian art, 
In listening mood she seemed to stand, 
The guardian Naiad of the strand." 

No kindred grace adorns her of whom it may be said 

Coquet and coy, at once her air, 
Both studied, tho' both seem neglected ; 
Careless she is with artful care 
Affecting to seem unaffected. 

Truth to nature, then, is beauty, and to study the 
laws of nature is to chasten and develope the taste 
for beauty. 

Another means of cultivating good taste, is to 
study the expression of character or design in which 
the beauty of objects consists. In the material 
world, every thing beautiful, is a manifestion of 
certain qualities which are by nature agreeable to 
the mind ; and to ascertain what these are, to point 
them out distinctly, to classify them, is a pleasing 
mode of refining and quickening the taste for beauty. 
" The longer I live," said one, " the more familiar I 
become with the world around me. Oh ! that I 
could feel the keen zest of which I was susceptible 
when a boy, and all was new and fair !" " The 
longer I live," says another, " the more charmed I 
become with the beauties of a picture or a landscape." 
The first of these had a natural taste for beauty 



THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 225 

which he had never developed by studying the 
expressions of character, which constitute the love- 
liness of creation. The other, regarding the outward 
universe as a splendid system of signs directed his 
attention to the thing signified ; loved to contem- 
plate the moral qualities which were beaming forth 
from all the surrounding objects, and thus saw open 
before him a boundless field, ever glowing with new 
colors and fresh attractions. The first, as he heard 
a piece of music, might from the mechanism of his 
nature feel some pleasure arising from novelty, or a 
regular succession of sounds, which familiarity would 
soon dispel. The other, as he studied the expres- 
sion of character, which those tones gave forth, as 
for instance, with the loud sound he associated the 
ideas of power or peril, with the low, those of deli- 
cacy and gentleness, with the acute, those of fear 
or surprise, with the grave, solemnity and dignity ; 
he would become more and more deeply touched 
and enraptured, while listening to the music of 
nature in the voice of singing winds or in the 
plaint of an JEolian harp, in the crash of 
thunder or in the roar of the Cataract, in the mur- 
mur of the brook or in the moan of the ocean, 
in the sigh of the zephyr or in the breath of the 



226 CHARLIE MACHREE. 

whirlwind, or while listening to the music of art 
breaking forth from the loud-sounding trumpet, the 
muffled drum, or Zion's lyre which hangs upon 
religion's shrine. 



CHARLIE MACHREE. 
A BALLAD. 

BY WILLIAM J. HOPPIN. 
I. 

Come over, come over 

The river to me, 
If ye are my laddie f 

Bold Charlie Maehree. 

Here's Mary McPherson, 

And Susey O'Linn, 
Who say ye're faint-hearted, 

And darena plunge in. 

But the dark rolling water 
Though deep as the sea, 

I know willna scare ye, 
Nor keep ye frae me : 

For stout is ye'r back, 
And strong is ye'r arm, 

And the heart in ye'r bosom 
Is faithful and warm* 



I 



CHARLIE MACfiREK. 2S7 

Come over, come over 

The river to me, 
If ye are my laddie 

Bold Charlie Machree ! 

II. 
I see him, I see him, 

He *s plunged in the tide, 
His strong arms are dashing 

The big waves aside ; 

Oh, the dark rolling water 

Shoots swift as the sea, 
But blythe is the glance 

Of his bonny blue e'e ; 

And his cheeks are like roses, 

Twa buds on a bough ; 
Who says ye 're faint-hearted 

My brave Charlie now ? 

Ho, ho, foaming river, 

Ye may roar as ye go, 
But ye canna bear Charlie 

To the dark loch below ! 

Come over, come over 

The river to me, 
My true hearted laddie, 

My Charlie Machree r 



228 CHARLIE MACHREE. 

III. 

He's sinking, he's sinking, 
Ob, what shall I do ! 

Strike out, Charlie, boldly, 
Ten strokes and ye're thro'. 

He's sinking, oh Heaven ! 

Ne'er fear, man, ne'er fear, 
I've a kiss for ye, Charlie, 

As soon as ye're here ! 

He rises, I see him, 

Five strokes, Charlie, mair — 
He 's shaking the wet 

From his bonny brown hair. 

He conquers the current, 
He gains on the sea, 

Ho, where is the swimmer 
Like Charlie Machree ? 

Come over the river, 
But once come to me, 

And I '11 love ye forever 
Dear Charlie Machree, 

IV. 

He 's sinking, he 's gone, 

Oh God, it is I, 
It is I who have killed him, 

J3elp, help — he must die ! 



i 



I 



OLD AGE. 229 

Help, help — ah, he rises — 

Strike out and ye're free, 
Ho, bravely done, Charlie, 

Once more now, for me ! 

Now cling to the rock — 

Now gie us ye'r hand — 
Ye 're safe, dearest Charlie, 

Ye 're safe on the land ! 

Come lie in my bosom, 

If there ye can sleep, 
I canna speak to ye, 

I only can weep. 

Ye 've crossed the wild river, 

Ye 've risked all for me, 
And I '11 part frae ye never 

Dear Charlie Machree ! 



OLD AGE. 

BY THE REV. EDWARD B. HALL. 

Life presents few images of higher beauty, than 
that of a tranquil and virtuous old age. It is quite 
distinct from the beauty and power of all other 
periods. The innocence of infancy has a charm 
unsurpassed in its kind, nor are they to be envied 
21 



230 OLD AGE. 

who cannot see it. The simplicity of childhood 
finds its way to every heart, which selfishness has 
not cased, or system perverted. The buoyancy of 
youth, especially when subdued by the gentle hand 
of religion and gladdened by her smile, is inexpres- 
sibly lovely. And the sober strength of manhood, 
putting itself forth for the good of society and the 
enduring interests of man, is an object on which 
the eyes of all, even of the frivolous and corrupt, 
love to rest, or are forced to look with respect. But 
you will pass them all, if you see beyond them 
the venerable form, erect in its dignity, or bending 
with its load of years well -filled. Here is maturity. 
And if it has been attained beneath the warmth and 
is tinged with the rays of the sun of righteousness, 
there is a grandeur in its beauty, a majesty in its 
calmness, a mellowness and richness in its fruits, to 
which none can be indifferent. Even when it is 
broken with the infirmities of old age, when the 
senses are dulled, the mind impaired, and the mul- 
titude of years has become labor and sorrow, it is 
an object of deep respect and unusual interest, to 
every mind that respects itself and every heart that 
is interested in its race. For, beside the intrinsic 
venerableness of age, varied but never destroyed by 
circumstances, there will come occasional words of 



OLD AGE. 231 

far-reaching recollection; brief hints full of ex- 
perience and instruction, voices of warning, breaking 
upon the ear like the voices of the dead, and at 
times flashes of light issuing from hidden depths — 
all telling of an age that is past, and a soul that 
cannot decay. Then, as the shades of death creep 
on. see the tranquillity with winch its approach is 
often watched, the subdued joy with which it is 
welcomed, the kind but unsparing faithfulness with 
which it is improved for the instruction of those 
around. And when (as we sometimes see in the 
saddest yet noblest wrecks, and to us among the 
valued tokens of the souls immortality) the worn 
out frame loses at last even its power of burdening 
and clouding, and the spirit which for a time had 
been its prisoner becomes again its Monarch, emerg- 
ing from its dungeon darkness and reascending its 
throne of light, how unearthly does it appear,— how 
resistlessly does it command the perishing organs, 
its sensual servants, to do its will, or act as if now 
independent of their ministry ! The sunken frame 
lifts itself up with a strength not its own, the droop- 
ing arm is new-nerved, the listless eye beams with 
no common light, the faltering voice recovers and 
deepens fearfully its tone, and the shrivelled lips, 
touched with an eloquence as of another world, give 



232 OLD AGE. 

forth in moments volumes of gathered wisdom. It 
is not the master of fiction alone who has drawn a 
picture of such majesty in age and renovation in 
decay, nor imagination only that has dipped its pen- 
cil in these colors. It is reality. It is the Master of 
nature and man, the Framer of these bodies and 
Father of these spirits. It is He who hath said, 
" Even to your old age, I am He j and even to hoary 
hairs will I carry you." 

It was a feature of antiquity, of ancient literature 
and manners, to inculcate uniform respect for the 
aged. Its declension in these latter days, is among 
the melancholy signs of the times. Once it was 
not only a disgrace but a crime, to fail of deference 
and respect to age. Now, is it not a common, and 
held to be a venial offence ? Is it not creeping into 
that dearest and holiest of earthly relations — parent 
and child ? And in all other relations, in all com- 
mon cases, is not any high degree of respect, from 
the young to the old, more unusual and noticeable, 
than the want of it ? Is it inculcated as it was 
formerly in our own land ? Is it made, as it should 
be, a part of education, essential to good manners 
and good morals ? If it be not, we may have cause 
to remember the sad declaration, " Their is a gen- 
eration that curseth their father, and doth not bless 



OLD AGE, 233 

their mother.'' There is reason for the strong lan- 
guage of one. now oppressed by the infirmity but full 
of the peace of a good old age — " "We may judge 
in some measure of the state of morals in any 
country, from the manner in which age is treated 
by youth. Where they, who are advanced in life. 
receive affection and respect, there decency is found, 
purity is not unknown, and the passions and appe- 
tites are under some restraints."* 

Let me press the importance of this duty. Let 
me urge it upon those, who have the office, or in 
any way the control, of education. Let me press it 
particularly upon the regard of the young themselves. 
Honor the aged. Look upon age as entitled of itself 
to your deference. Pay it every attention, render it 
every service in your power. Bear with its frailties. 
as belonging to its condition, and coming, it may be ; 
upon you. Let those frailties never, in their presence 
or their absence, be the subject of your ridicule or 
amusement; or that of any around you if your re- 
buke can silence it. Regard it as an offence against 
nature, decency, manners and principle. Regard 
the opposite, habitual respect for age. as belonging 
essentially to the character of a man, a gentleman, 
and above all. a Christian. Remember the emphatic 

* Dr. Freeman, of Boston. 

21* 



234 



OLD AGE. 



word of the Lord to his chosen people ; — " Thou 
shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honor the 
face of the old man, and fear thy God." Remem- 
ber the terrible judgment visited upon those, who 
jeered at the " bald head." Be not impious mockers, 
but reverent helpers, of the aged. Delight to be a 
staff to their failing limbs, an enlivener of their soli- 
tary hours, a comforter of their sorrows. Help them 
to forget, not to remember, their deprivations and 
weaknesses. And if you are permitted to watch 
those weaknesses as they grow with the weight of 
years, to witness the decay of noble powers and the 
apparent withering of warm affection, if you see 
the inlets of knowledge and sources of common 
enjoyment one after another closing, if it be your 
privilege to walk by the aged step by step as they 
descend the vale— rejoice, that you can be both dis- 
ciples and teachers of their waning wisdom ; that 
you can be eyes to the blind, ears to the deaf, feet 
to the lame, ministers to the darkened but still eager 
mind, and messengers of life to the dying. * # 

Powerful indeed is the appeal which comes in the 
broken voice of age, turning as it leaves the world 
to rebuke or animate those from whom it is part- 
ing forever. Most responsible the influence thus 
possessed, beautiful the religious use of it, melan- 



OLD AGE. 235 

choly beyond expression its thoughtless or corrupt 
abuse. 

But what, (my friends of every age,) though this 
influence be all perverted, and the warning lost ? — 
What though all lips were still and all lives voice- 
less ? Is there not a tongue in every form that flits 
before us, in every change that is witnessed, in every 
breeze that ruffles the surface, and every storm that 
tosses the billows, of life's ocean ? Has not life 
itself always a tongue, when it comes in trem- 
ulous breathings, when it passes swifter than 
a post, when it vanisheth away like vapor ? 
Do not days speak, though their possessors be 
dumb ? And the multitude of years, shall it 
not of itself teach wisdom ? Look upon the aged — 
consider what they have been, and bear in mind, 
that if your most flattering hopes are granted, the 
change that has come upon them will come upon 
you, if a more fearful change come not first. A 
change you will experience, not in your bodies only, 
but in your minds, your views of life, your thoughts 
of death, your pursuits, passions, aspirations. Doubt 
not this, though you may strive to doubt all things 
else. The decree is fixed. The change is inevitable. 
Nature whom you may worship, has written it in 
every frame. History, which you trust, has told it 



236 AN EXCURSION DOWN NARRAGANSET BAY. 

in the swelling voice of six thousand years. Philos- 
ophy and science, in which you glory, have covered 
the earth with monuments to its truth. Time is 
already tracing it, though now perhaps with playful 
fingers, in your changing form and features. Every 
planet that flies its round, every leaf that drops, 
every pulse that beats at your wrist, every hair that 
falls from your head, tells of its coming, sure fulfil- 
ment. And before to-morrow's light lingers on the 
western hills, Death may inscribe it with his cold 
hand upon your senseless clay. u Dust thou art ? 
and to dust thou shalt return." 



AN EXCURSION DOWN NARRAGANSET BAY. 

BY THE REV. JAMES D. KNOWLES. 

The morning shines in all the pride of May, 

The smiling Heavens unsullied by a cloud ; 
All nature hath assumed her bright array, 

And wake her living choir their concert loud. 
While on the deck now throng the busy crowd, 

The smile of pleasure brightening every brow ; 
The sails on all unfurled, the streamers proud 

Sport in the breeze, and gay as childhood, now 
We skim the silver wave, which sparkles round our prow. 



AN EXCURSION DOWN NARRAGANSET BAY. 237 

Majestic Narraganset, o'er whose breast 

Our barque is lightly wafted by the breeze, 
Fondly encircled, on thy bosom rest 

Thy nursling isles : Afar the strained eye sees, 
Along thy distant banks, amid the trees 

The peasant's dwelling, where unwandering eyes, 
And faithful hearts, if earth indeed have these, 

Might find that gem which fate or pride denies 
To those oft envied ones, the noble and the wise. 

Though never hallowed by the voice of song, 

Yet e'en here quickening recollections crowd, 
Here the fierce sons of Nature held, along 

These hills and valleys, ere the forests bow'd 
Beneath the white man's stroke, dominion proud : 

Wild as the cataract — whom their mother gave, 
The fierce and untamed spirit which ne'er cowed 

To man, and scorning fate : But o'er the wave 
The white man came — and they are slumbering in the grave ! 

Ye hapless and deluded victims — when 

Far Europe's helpless fugitives, exiled, 
Fled from the presence of their fellow men, 

To seek securer refuge in the wild ; 
In honest singleness of heart, ye smiled 

Upon them, and free Nature's welcome spoke, 
In the heart's language, warm and undefiled : 

But soon the gathering tempest burst and broke 
O'er your defenceless heads, the scathing thunderstroke. 



238 AN EXCURSION DOWN NARRAGANSET BAY. 

And Philip, thou, whose name is deemed a blot 

On History's page all black with human crime ; 
Though thou for country, freedom, life hast fought, 

With spirit worthy those of ancient time : 
Though wild and savage, yet thy soul sublime 

Swelled high with every feeling, which could wring 
The patriot's breast, who saw intruders climb 

His eagle nest, and to the tempest fling 
The remnant of his race, and clip his mounting wing. 

Mount Hope is towering proudly as before, 

The same bright smile, the fields and valleys wear. 
But thou, their pride, their terror, art no more, 

And thy bold followers are slumbering there : 
Or haply if the battle chanced to spare 

A few, more wretched, to the trackless West 
They fled, to seek a refuge from despair. 

Alas ! the earth vouchsafes no place of rest, 
Their sons are hated still, wrong'd, hunted and oppressed. 

Newport ! thou wast indeed a lovely spot, 

Smiling in wealth and beauty o'er the bay, 
Ere War despoiled thee, yet his hand could not 

Sweep all thine early loveliness away. 
Though Time hath written every where decay, 

Still are thy hills green, and thy daughters fair j 
The last rich hues of the departing day, 

Full glowing on thy roofs and tall spires, there. 
And fading slowly off, thy fittest emblem are* 



GENIUS BORN J NOT MADE. 239 

But from the tedious dullness of thy streets, 

Which busy toil and bustle seldom cheer — 
Thy mouldering wharves, which commerce rarely greets 

Or swells the tar's rude chorus on the ear — 
To nature's charms I gladly turn — and here 

A scene of beauty bursts upon the eye : 
Here, blooming fields and fertile hills appear, 

Below, the harbor, bay, and islands lie, 
And there, the ocean rolls, wide stretching to the sky. 

And here the traveller who grieves to trace 

The wrecks of former grandeur in decay, 
And every heart, which loves the hallowed place, 

Which owns a fame that cannot pass away ; 
Must pause awhile, and parting tribute pay 

To that famed spot,* where art and nature vied, 
That second Eden — but the palace gay 

Moulders in dust — neglect and ruin wide 
Darken the lovely spot, erewhile the Island's pride. 



GENIUS BORN; NOT MADE. 

BY THE HON. THOMAS W. DORR. 

The doctrine, that the differences of talent among 
men are made by education and labor, in fact that 
' : Labor is the only true Genius," seems to be gaining 

* Malbone's extensive and beautiful Garden. 



240 GENIUS BORN J NOT MADE. 

ground among us. The repute of this doctrine has 
grown out of the practical turn which every thing 
takes in this country ; and there are so few really 
great geniuses, that it is a safe one to inculcate in 
any part of the world excepting only the danger 
that it may occasionally excite an ambition dispro- 
portionate to a man's abilities, and which, with all 
its exertions, is destined to the mortification of 
having its pretensions, and even its merits disallowed. 
Every young man should aim high, and then, 
with labor, he will become respectable ; perhaps, 
eminent. It is quite surprising, how great some 
men have become by hard study, in various literary 
and professional departments, whose natural powers 
were not above mediocrity. They enlarged by use, 
their acquisitive faculties to an extraordinary degree ; 
they may have been eminently useful, but they 
never became original and inventive. Let no man 
deceive himself with the hope of making himself a 
genius. This is a word of high prerogative. It 
indicates the possession not of any immediate divine 
inspiration truly, but of certain " high gifts that 
border on divinity," and which are not easily de- 
finable by or to those who are entirely unconscious 
of them. They are still, in kind, the same human 
powers which all possess in various humbler degrees, 



GENIUS BORN ; NOT MADE. 241 

since it is the true test of genius, that its productions 
arrest and control the sympathies of all mankind. 

Genius, in its power, is like the mysterious centre 
of magnetic attraction. All minds and hearts, are 
instinctively drawn out toward it, they know not 
why, and are filled with the glory and fruition of its 
divine works, — claiming by their very homage, 
kindred with its nature, and attesting by the truth 
and fervor of their admiration, its higher origin 
and nearer affinity to the 

" First good, first perfect, and first fair." 

This is the testimony of every age and country ; 
and its force will not probably be impaired by any 
exceptions in our own. But not to be deemed too 
vague, let us resort to examples. If any being in 
this lower world is distinguished by the hand of 
his Maker above the rest of His intelligent creatures, 
it is the truly great, original, inventive, creative 
Poet. His native perceptions, susceptibilities, ca- 
pacities, are different from those of common men. 
He sees a great deal more than they, in the world 
without ; a thousand beautiful combinations, (sug- 
gesting innumerable fancies and emotions,) which 
are lost to the dead eye of the ordinary observer : 
to the favored places of the earth, where he paid 

homage to nature, he bequeaths associations which 

22 



242 GENIUS BORN J NOT MADE. 

render them forever memorable and sacred to man- 
kind : he perceives new, delicate, remote relations, 
the parents of new and striking thoughts ; he searches 
" dark bosoms," and unveils the mysteries of the 
heart and life of man ; he does not rest when he has 
portrayed the vicissitudes of life and the varieties 
of human character ; he ranges beyond the death of 
the body, along the endless destiny of the mind. 

Further, there is no reputation so dear and coveted 
as that of the true poet. Other great men are occa- 
sionally remembered and admired, but the memory 
of the poet dwells with the noble and generous in 
mind, and is constantly renewed, with each rising 
generation, in the hearts of the young. The Temple 
of Fame was reared by elder hands, but the young 
are the guardians and patrons of its shrine. Their 
offerings are the richest and most sincere. The 
poet lives after death, on earth j lives to the mind's 
eye more truly than any other man, however great 
his virtues, his genius, or his works. Literary men 
and all who have strong, ambitious minds, are well 
aware of this truth, and there is a wide aspiration 
after the fame of a poet. Horace complained in his 
day, of the general rush toward Parnassus — 

"Both fools and learned, we every where write verse." 

The complaint is tenfold more distressing at the 



GENIUS BORN ; NOT MADE. 243 



present clay. There is an unexampled competition 
in the poetical lists of England and our own country ; 
yet with all the incitements of ambition, all the 
accumulations of classic and modern learning, all 
the labors of patience and industry, all the efforts 
of real talent, there has appeared but one man in 
this century, whose statue deserves to be placed in 
the temple of which we have been speaking, beside 
the images of Shakspeare and Milton. 

But genius is not of one kind only, There are 
various forms of it. There is a genius of the under- 
standing ; and it was never better exemplified than 
in the mind of Newton. He is commonly cited to 
prove what a man of moderate abilities can do., with 
" patient attention and reflection." The humility of 
this great man, while it really favored his perception 
of truth, and aided his discoveries, led him to depre- 
ciate his own abilities. But it should be remembered, 
that when he spoke to common apprehension so poor- 
ly of himself, he was looking upward to the powers 
above him, and the world of truth, that lay beyond 
the capacity of his present limited faculties ; and not 
downward, at the ordinary intellects and acquire- 
ments around him. The genius of the imagination 
is the most imposing and the most easily recognized 
and distinguished : but that of the understanding is 



244 GENIUS BORN J NOT MADE. 

not the less real. Sir Isaac had an imagination 
perhaps of no ordinary degree ; he essayed both 
poetry and painting in his younger days ; but his 
good sense told him where his greater strength lay, 
and he shaped his pursuits in that direction. It 
was the power and reach of his understanding that 
were so remarkable. 

But, it will be asked, may not any one be an 
Orator ? There is much truth in the old adage — 

" For though the Poet's born, not made, 
The Orator may learn his trade." 

The first line is strictly true : any man of good 
talents may indeed make verses, and some such 
have more facility in rhyming than the true sons of 
the lyre : in other words, great numbers can and do 
attain to that mediocrity, which neither, " gods, 
men, nor booksellers," can endure. The second 
line requires qualification. Since the poets have 
eeased to sing their own verses, as in early times, 
their personal appearance and mode of speech are 
of little consequence, except to their immediate 
acquaintance. Though Dante, after the death of 
Beatrice, wore a savage aspect, and was fearful to 
look upon ; his " Comedy" is not the less " Divine." 
Pope was none the less a poet, for resembling in his 
person, a note of interrogation ; but his fitness for 



GENIUS BORN } NOT MADE. 245 

an orator, with such a figure, would have been 
rather questionable. It is not only necessary for 
the orator to have good thoughts and good words ; 
and these are the main thing after all, but personal 
appearance and bearing, voice, enunciation, gesture, 
effect, must all be attended to, and are all to a great 
degree, within the reach of art. An awkward, slo- 
venly port, (and it is of no small consequence to a 
public speaker how he carries himself,) may be 
corrected, a bad voice may be improved, rude enun- 
ciation and gesture may be amended and polished, 
and the orator may acquire a skill in adapting him- 
self to his audience, to times, places, feelings, so as 
greatly to increase the effect of his efforts. But go 
into public assemblies, and you will soon learn, that 
all the externals of great oratory are merely acces- 
sories to something great in the mind. Suppose 
a man perfect in them, without strong reasoning 
powers and imagination, he is but feeble and tire- 
some. It is not uncommon, indeed, to hear speakers 
whose well studied delivery and gesture are so out 
of proportion to the littleness of their thoughts, that 
you listen to them with a sense of the ridiculous. 
Power and manner must be combined, to realize 
our conceptions of perfect oratory. 

In truth, the really great orator is a man of gen- 
22* 



246 GENIUS BORN ,* NOT MADE. 



ius ; he is u a poet inaction." He is almost as 
rare as tho poet, or philosopher of the first rank. 
There is a wide field for eloquence in this country ; 
and yet, notwithstanding the amount of talent 
directed towards public speaking, how few decidedly 
powerful orators now exist, or have existed among 
us : and most of them have been but little indebted 
for their effect, to the graces of elocution. Our 
New-England li champion of the Constitution," has 
but one gesture in delivery ; an awkward move- 
ment of the arms up and down, making what has 
been appropriately termed, with reference to him, 
the " lion-paw stroke." His power is in his strong 
vehement logic, and cold, bitter irony. Had he 
but a few grains more imagination — but he is great 
enough, too great, to be popular in this day of small 
men. 

That there is such a thing as a natural ear for 
music, without which no one can be more than a 
mere mechanical imitator of sounds, will, I believe, 
be conceded by almost every one j although there 
may be a difference of opinion as to the defect, 
whether, strictly speaking, it be in the external 
organ, rather than in the mind itself. And will 
any one deny the name of genius, though of a lower 
form, to such divine masters as Handel, Mozart, 



GENIUS BORN J NOT MADE. 247 

Rossini ; who stand as far above the ordinary level 
of the unnumbered musical composers, as Milton, 
Byron, and Moore, (between whom and the artists 
above named, there is, perhaps, more than a fanciful 
resemblance,) are pre-eminent, above the ten thou- 
sand poetasters, in their several orders of excellence ? 

In examining the elements of a poet's constitution, 
we cannot fail to observe, that he must have a pe- 
culiar sensibility — a large, full heart of his own, to 
be able either to probe and search the bosoms of 
others, or to win and control their hearts, which 
are the depositories of his fame. These warm 
feelings kindle that creative faculty, by which he 
is characterized. We call his the genius of the 
imagination. I believe, also, that there is, in a very 
peculiar sense, a genius of the heart. This is a 
subject of itself; I am afraid to attempt it, and will 
leave it where it is. 

Education must go on, to a certain point, nearly 
the same with all minds. But the time will come, 
and does come, in the course of mental development, 
when certain decided tastes and preferences are 
manifested in those, whatever may be their condi- 
tion of life, who are destined to distinction. Consult 
the biography of eminent men. You do not find 
that early circumstances decided their fate ; that is 



248 GENIUS BORN I NOT MADE. 



to say, you do not find that this man was great, or 
the reverse, because he was born to wealth, had 
every advantage of education, and was directed by 
anxious friends to that particular course for which 
they thought him best qualified ; nor that another 
was great, or the reverse, because he had none of 
these circumstances on his side. Wealth, birth, 
title, do not seem on the one hand, to depress and 
enervate the native energy of real genius ; nor on 
the other, do poverty, misery and neglect, seem 
necessary to call it into action. Where it is in a 
man, it will show itself, without, or against external 
circumstances. If Boyle, or Byron, had been born 
to the most squalid wretchedness, I do not believe 
that they would have been greater men on that 
account. The condition of a man of genius, may 
advance or retard his progress, not prevent it. We 
may find in the list of great men, some who were 
born apparently to the most unhappy fate, who 
never knew their parents, who were surrounded by 
degrading and vicious examples and bowed down 
by the most servile humiliation ; while, on the 
contrary, thousands of another sort, with every ad- 
vantage of fortune and education, have gravitated 
toward, and at last sunk into the very state from 
which the first mentioned emerged. So far as lam 



GENIUS BORN ) NOT MADE. 



249 



able to learn the truth on this subject, it is, as others 
have found it, that ordinary men generally remain 
so far as their own exertions are concerned, in the 
conditions where the accidents of birth may have 
placed them ; while the greater men, to whom 
nature has been lavish of her best gifts, vindicate 
their supremacy, bend and conquer circumstances, 
are the artificers of their own fortunes, the " sons 
of their own works." In the noble lines of Dryden, 

" Man makes his Fate according to his mind ; 
The weak, low spirit, Fortune, makes her slave, 
But she's a drudge, when hectored by the brave. 
If Fate weave common thread, I '11 change the doom, 
And with new purple, weave a nobler loom." 

That genius depends on an inward impulse, and is 
not merely made by the will and exercise of the 
individual, is also corroborated by the fact that its 
possessor may for a long time give the clearest 
evidence of his endowment, without a consciousness 
of its existence. Men of powerful minds, generally 
find themselves out, some very early in life j but 
they are frequently indebted to the reaction of the 
popular opinion formed by their works, for the full 
conviction of their own superiority. It is rare for 
a man of genius to go through life, without express- 
ing his love of fame, and his hope of an immortality 
on earth, in the memory of mankind. Milton, 



250 GENIUS BORN I NOT MADE. 



gloried in the assurance he felt, that he had written* 
something which " posterity would not willingly 
let die." But on the other hand, is there a line in 
the works of Shakspeare, or an intimation in any 
thing which we know of his life, to show that he 
felt and exulted in his strength, and indulged the 
dream of his immortal honors. His plays are evi- 
dently written with haste and carelessness ; he took 
no pains for their accurate preservation j and they 
have reached us with doubtless many additions and 
alterations by other hands. Shakspeare early felt 

" That dear necessity of being loved ;" 

And although disappointed in his domestic affections, 
he does not appear to have resorted to those solaces 
of ambition and fame, 

" That cheer the poverty of desert hearts." 

Perhaps this absence of all affectation of a great 
name and of the conscious display of genius, is one 
of the secrets of the power of the great Poet of 
Human Nature. 

With regard to the labor of men of genius : 
although they are not exempted from the toils of 
acquisition, they are above the necessity of plodding. 
They gather and arrange facts, and arrive at the 
conclusions, more rapidly than the generality of 
men. Although, a precocious memory in a child is 



GENIUS BORN ; NOT MADE. 251 



not the best assurance of genius ; yet, on the other 
hand, it is true, with rare exceptions, that men of 
genius have great memories. They may not be 
idle, though their labors have not the arrangement 
and regularity of others. They may become slothful 
and negligent, and fail of attaining the just measure 
of their superiority ; but point out, if you can, any 
man of this description, whose curiosity and love of 
knowledge have not led him to to acquire enough 
to make himself known, if not so well known as he 
should be. Genius and acquisition naturally belong 
together. Milton was the greatest scholar of his 
age. One might suppose that Byron, if any body, 
lived without acquirement and study ; but we learn 
the contrary, from his biography. His reading 
was desultory, but vast. Excepting in the exact 
sciences, he was one of the best informed men of his 
day. Labor does not make the man of genius ; 
but he derives as much more advantage from it 
than others, as his native mind is greater than 
theirs. 

But are circumstances of no account, as you be- 
fore said ? the objector may ask. I did not say they 
were of no account. I said they had nothing to do 
with creating those powers of mind which are sum- 
med up in the word genius. Circumstances can do a 



252 GENIUS BORN J NOT MADE. 

great deal j they can depress the truly noble, and 
cover them with neglect and obloquy ; they can 
raise the little, the sordid, the base, to high distinc- 
tion, and keep them there ; they can confer and 
take away wealth, reputation, power ; they can 
favor or retard the advancement of those who must 
advance without them, or in spite of them ; but 
they cannot make the great heart, the unconquera- 
ble will, the creative imagination, the comprehensive 
understanding. These divine endowments cannot 
be wholly concealed or suppressed ; and at some 
time or other, in some place or other, and in some 
way or other, will proclaim their own majesty, and 
command the world's reverence. Their possessor 
may have been the child of misfortune and penury, 
from the cradle to the grave ; nay, he may have 
perished prematurely like Otway and Chatterton, in 
the desperation of physical want ; but if the gift 
of God was in him, depend upon it, there was also 
a record of its power, which cannot be lost, before 
it was taken with him to another life. The hapless 
son of genius, to whom fortune denied his daily 
bread, may make such rich provision for posterity, 
in his undying works, that remote generations shall 
call him a benefactor, and consecrate his fame. 
But labor and circumstances did not make this man. 



GENIUS BORN J NOT MADE. 253 

Some one will say, it is a hard fate to which we 
are born ; the vast majority, to mediocrity and even 
less. Such is our fate nevertheless. " Hath not the 
potter power over the clay, to make one vessel to 
honor and another to dishonor ?" The decree of 
mere power may not justify to our minds, the way 
of our Maker ; but if we look farther, we shall 
discern in this, as in all the other appointments of 
Providence, the purpose and the fulfilment of the 
greatest good. The endless variety of the natural 
world is not more necessary to the pleasure of the 
individual beings who inhabit it, than the diversity 
of their powers, conditions and employments is, to 
the greatest happiness of their greatest number. 
And after all, there is one great common ground of 
equality. The moral constitution of man, which 
gives him the perception of right and wrong, and 
makes him the just subject of a future retribution, 
redresses the balance of power, which might other- 
wise be disturbed by the preponderance of great 
abilities : and thus the humblest man, who enjoys 
an inferior portion of his maker's best gifts, may 
raise himself to the higher degrees of moral excel- 
lence. The duties of justice, benevolence, and 
piety, are common to all, because all have the 

power to perform them ; and the worth of the per- 
23 



254 GENIUS BORN J NOT MADE. 

formance is not measured by ability, but by the 
proportion between ability and its result. The 
sway of mere genius, without reference to its 
benevolent exercise, is beginning to decline, as 
Christianity advances ; and a life of beneficence is 
becoming a passport to fame. Wilberforce was 
blest with no genius ; but he heard the cry of the 
oppressed, and devoted his life and fortune to the 
abolition of the curse of slavery. His name will 
be mentioned with honor, to say nothing of future 
recompenses, when the names of multitudes of 
greater men who gratified a selfish ambition, at the 
expense of tears and blood to their fellow creatures, 
are cited with contempt, or covered with oblivion. 
The spirit of that great philanthropist is borne up 
to heaven upon the prayers of the human race. He 
was their friend. Let those who despair of dis- 
tinction from the force of their abilities, adopt a 
course like his : they may be assured that there is 
a leaf in the Life-Book even of human memory and 
gratitude, for all those who dedicate their time, their 
talents and their substance, to increase the know- 
ledge, the virtue and the happiness of mankind. 



255 



TIME. 

BY TH03IAS C. HARTSHORN. 

Tdie, though our friend, is often deemed a foe, 
Against him many strive with idle zeal : 

The lover and the sluggard think him slow, 
And wish a rapid motion to his wheel : 

While debtors, who have notes or drafts to pay, 

Would gladly have him linger on his way. 

The gay coquette, regardless how he flies, 
Enjoys her conquests while her charms avail, 

Nor knows the truth that Flattery denies, 
Until her mirror tells the serious tale ; 

Then borrows she each artificial aid 

To hide the ravages that Time hath made. 

In vain she strives ! proud monuments decay ; 

Shall frailer beauty such a wreck outlive 1 
Alas ! it is the creature of a day, 

And passes with the cloud that shines at eve, 
When the bright sun in setting throws a fringe 
Of rays on it — an evanescent tinge ! 

Nor this alone ; the fairest works of art 
May fall unwept, but Genius weeps to see 

The gentlest lines that ever touched the heart, 
Fade like the colors on old tapestry. 



256 TIME. 

Hath he not plundered Chaucer of his bays, 
By making obsolete his finest lays ? 

And Shakspeare too, whom Nature took to nurse 
Amid her mountain scenery, wild, sublime, 

(Why did she not exempt him from the curse ?) 
Hath felt the woeful ravages of Time 

So much, that some think all his commentators, 

Compared to Time, are harmless depredators. 

The words in which they breathed their glowing souls. 
When the fine frenzy kindled up their ken, 

Obscure in meaning, like the leafy scrolls 
Which zephyr wafted from the Sybil's den, 

Have lost the bold conceptions they conveyed, 

And given critics quite a musty trade. 

Even they who led the van, and kindled war 
Along the breathing lines of clashing spears, 

Have missed the fame which they contended for, 
Obscured and buried in the lapse of years ; 

Mentioned perhaps in some black-letter book 

Covered with cobwebs in its dusty nook. 

Behold what mighty changes Time can make. 

The fields that madmen fattened with their gore, 
Are green and peaceful as a summer lake, 

The victors and the vanquished known no more, 
Save when the sturdy ploughman, with his share, 
Turns up their bones and wonders whose they were. 



TIME. 

He who hath read the records of the past, 
Perchance may recollect the cause, the date, 

Wherefore and when the trumpet blew the blast 
Which called these mortal remnants to their fate : 

And while his soul is tuned to melancholy 

He drops a tear, and sighs for human folly. 

what a tale could Time to us reveal 

Of by-gone ages, when the world was new ! 
Thou hoary sire ! thine oracles unseal ! 

Display thy past experience to our view ! 
For thou hast seen proud empires rise and fall 
Before the deluge overwhelmed them all. 

Thy visionary form before me now 

Appears as Neptune from the main arose, 

The mists of ages hang upon thy brow, 

Spectres of ruined things thy train compose, 

The verdure shrinks and withers at thy tread 

And crowds of mortals number with the dead ! 

Speak while I sit submissive to thy will, 
Historic truth devoid of fabrication : 

1 wait, with eager mind and ready quill, 

To give symbolic form to thy narration. 
Infuse my ink with all thy gathered store, 
And thus from darkness light shall spring once more. 

Tell us the story of those eastern nations 
To whom the arts and sciences were known, 
23* 



257 



258 TIME. 

Ere Philip's son commenced his operations,. 
Or his precursor, Cyrus, was o'erthrown ; 
Fable sits brooding over them, and mystery- 
Involves the scanty records of their history. 

Who reared the mounds upon Ohio's shore 
That mock research and triumph over thee ! 

The savage, skilled in legendary lore, 
Hath no tradition from his ancestry. 

Oblivion glooms upon the buried brave 

Like Desolation, on a Druid's grave. 

It is imagined by the antiquaries 

That, ere Columbus found this hemisphere, 
(Thou hast reduced them to these strange vagaries) 

A nobler race of men existed here. 
Pray, did this race, from earthly refuge driven, 
Pass with the mammoth to the Indian's heaven ? 

When brilliant schemes the youthful fancy drew, 
Did after years fulfil each fond desire ? 

Or did they, like the Hebrew leader, view 
Afar the consummation, and expire 

Before they reached it ? Such the fate of all 

Who grovel now on this terrestrial ball ! 



B J 



Deceitful Time ! when grief and pain annoy 
The mind and body, slow is thy career : 

But when excited by some transient joy, 
Rapid thy passage through the rolling year ! 



A DEFENCE OF POETRY. 259 

Our fears, our hopes, thou bearest on thy wing, 
Age's ripe autumn, and young boyhood's spring. 

Even while I gaze, thou fadest from my view 

As some loose cloud fantastically dight, 
Which, at the evening's close, dissolves in dew, 

And leaves no vestige in the starry height. 
Farewell ! grim phantom of an idle hour, 
Which Endor's art may not to me restore ! 



A DEFENCE OF POETRY. 

BY THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 

Poetry seems to us the divinest of all arts ; for 
it is the breathing or expression of that principle or 
sentiment, which is deepest and sublimest in human 
nature ; we mean, of that thirst or aspiration, to 
which no mind is wholly a stranger, for something 
purer and lovelier, something more powerful, lofty, 
and thrilling than ordinary and real life affords. 
No doctrine is more common among Christians than 
that of man's immortality ; but it is not so generally 
understood, that the germs or principles of his whole 
future being are now wrapped up in his soul, as the 
rudiments of the future plant in the seed. As a 
necessary result of this constitution, the soul, pos- 



260 A DEFENCE OF POETRY. 

sessed and moved by these mighty though infant 
energies, is perpetually stretching beyond what is 
present and visible, struggling against the bounds of 
its earthly prison-house, and seeking relief and joy 
in imaginings of unseen and ideal being. This 
view of our nature, which has never been fully 
developed, and which goes farther towards explain- 
ing the contradictions of human life than all others, 
carries us to the very foundation and sources of 
poetry. He who cannot interpret by his own con- 
sciousness what we now have said, wants the true 
key to works of genius. He has not penetrated 
those sacred recesses of the soul, where poetry is 
born and nourished, and inhales immortal vigor, 
and wings herself for her heavenward flight. In 
an intellectual nature, framed for progress and for 
higher modes of being, there must be creative ener- 
gies, powers of original and ever growing thought : 
and poetry is the form in which these energies are 
chiefly manifested. It is the glorious prerogative of 
this art, that it " makes all things new" for the 
gratification of a divine instinct. It indeed finds 
its elements in what it actually sees and experiences, 
in the worlds of matter and mind ; but it combines 
and blends these into new forms, and according to 
new affinities, breaks down, if we may so say, the 



A DEFENCE OF POETRY. 261 

distinctions and bounds of nature ; imparts to 
material objects life, and sentiment, and emotion, 
and invests the mind with the powers and splendors 
of the outward creation ; describes the surrounding 
universe in the colors which the passions throw 
over it, and depicts the soul in those modes of repose 
Gr agitation, of tenderness or sublime emotion, 
which manifest its thirst for a more powerful and 
joyful existence. To a man of a literal and prosaic 
character, the mind may seem lawless in these 
workings ; but it observes higher laws than it 
transgresses, the laws of the immortal intellect ; it 
is trying and developing its best faculties ; and in 
the objects which it describes, or in the emotions 
which it awakens, anticipates those states of pro- 
gressive power, splendor, beauty, and happiness, for 
which it was created. 

We accordingly believe that poetry, far from 
injuring society, is one of the great instruments of 
its refinement and exaltation. It lifts the mind 
above ordinary life, gives it a respite from depressing 
cares, and awakens the consciousness of its affinity 
with what is pure and noble. In its legitimate and 
highest efforts, it has the same tendency and aim 
with Christianity ; that is, to spiritualize our nature. 
True, poetry has been made the instrument of vice, 



262 A DEFENCE OF POETRY. 

the pander of bad passions ; but when genius thus 
stoops, it dims its fires, and parts with much of its 
power : and even when poetry is enslaved to licen- 
tiousness or misanthropy, she cannot wholly forget 
her true vocation. Strains of pure feeling, touches 
of tenderness, images of innocent happiness, sym- 
pathies with suffering virtue, bursts of scorn or 
indgination at thehollowness of the world, passages 
true to our moral nature, often escape in an immoral 
work, and show us how hard it is for a gifted 
spirit to divorce itself wholly from what is good. 
Poetry has a natural alliance with our best affec- 
tions. It delights in the beauty and sublimity of 
the outward creation and of the soul. It indeed 
portrays, with terrible energy, the excesses of the 
passions ; but they are passions which show a mighty 
nature, which are full of power, which command 
awe, and excite a deep though shuddering sympa- 
thy. Its great tendency and purpose is, to carry 
the mind beyond and above the beaten, dusty, 
weary walks of ordinary life : to lift it in a purer 
element ; and to breathe into it a more profound 
and generous emotion. It reveals to us the loveli- 
ness of nature, brings back the freshness of early 
feeling, revives the relish of simple pleasures, keeps 
unquenched the enthusiasm which warmed the 



A DEFENCE OF POETRY. 263 

spring-time of our being, refines youthful love, 
strengthens our interest in human nature by vivid 
delineations of its tenderest and loftiest feelings, 
spreads our sympathies over all classes of society, 
knits us by new ties with universal being, and, 
through the brightness of its prophetic visions, helps 
faith to lay hold on the future life. 

We are aware, that it is objected to poetry, that 
it gives wrong views and excites false expectations 
of life, peoples the mind with shadows and illusions 
and builds up imagination on the ruins of wisdom. 
That there is a wisdom, against which poetry wars, 
the wisdom of the senses, which makes physical 
comfort and gratification the supreme good, and 
wealth the chief interest of life, we do not deny ; 
nor do we deem it the least service which poetry 
renders to mankind, that it redeems them from the 
thraldom of this earthborn prudence. But, passing 
over this topic, we would observe that the complaint 
against poetry as abounding in illusion and decep- 
tion, is in the main groundless. In many poems 
there is more of truth than in many histories and 
philosophic theories. The fictions of genius are 
often the vehicles of the sublimest verities, and its 
flashes often open new regions of thought, and 
throw new light on the mysteries of our being. In 



264 A DEFENCE OF POETRY. 

poetry, when the letter is falsehood, the spirit is 
often profoundest wisdom. And if truth thus dwells 
in the boldest fictions of the poet, much more may 
it be expected in his delineations of life ; for the 
present life, which is the first stage of the immortal 
mind, abounds in the materials of poetry, and it is 
the high office of the bard to detect this divine 
element among the grosser labors and pleasures of 
our earthly being. The present life is not wholly 
prosaic, precise, tame, and finite. To the gifted 
eye, it abounds in the poetic. The affections which 
spread beyond ourselves and stretch far into futurity ; 
the workings of mighty passions, which seem to arm 
the soul with an almost superhuman energy ; the 
innocent and irrepressible joy of infancy ; the 
bloom, and buoyancy, and dazzling hopes of youth ; 
the throbbings of the heart, when it first wakes to 
love, and dreams of a happiness too vast for earth ; 
woman, with her beauty, and grace, and gentleness, 
and fulness of feeling, and depth of affection, and 
blushes of purity, and the tones and looks which 
only a mother's heart can inspire : — these are all 
poetical. It is not true that the poet paints a life 
which does not exist. He only extracts and con- 
centrates, as it were, life's etherial essence, arrests 
and condenses its volatile fragrance, brings together 



A FRAGMENT, 265 

its scattered beauties, and prolongs its more refined 
but evanescent joys. And in this he does well ; 
for it is good to feel that life is not wholly usurped 
by cares for subsistence, and physical gratifications, 
but admits, in measures which may be indefinitely 
enlarged, sentiments and delights worthy of a higher 
being. This power of poetry to refine our views of 
life and happiness, is more and more needed as 
society advances. It is needed to withstand the 
encroachments of heartless and artificial manners, 
which make civilization so tame and uninteresting. 
It is needed to counteract the tendency of physical 
science, which being now sought, not, as formerly, 
for intellectual gratification, but for multiplying 
bodily comforts, requires a new development of 
imagination, taste, and poetry, to preserve men from 
sinking into an earthly, material, epicurean life. 



A FRAGMENT. 

BY THE REV. CHARLES T. BROOKS. 

" There is a rapture on the lonely shore 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar :" 
Thus sung the Bard ; and yet he ne'er had stood 
By " Purgatory,"* where its crystal flood 

* Near Newport. 

24 



266 A FRAGMENT. 

All green and glassy murmurs evermore, — ■ 
He ne'er had heard the music of that roar, 
Nor had he heard the deep and sullen shock 
Of bellowing billows at the " Sounding Rock." 
He ne'er had heard the gently rippling wave 
Moan o'er the pebbly flood of " Conrad's Cave." 
Would he had heard these tones that he might tell 
What music lingers in the solemn swell 
Of the wild waves along our rock-bound coast ; 
How like some stern and ever mustering host, 
Old ocean's billows roll and murmur here, 
And greet with trumpet tones the enchanted ear. 
Solemn and stately now the gathering throng 
Of waves on waves deep-sounding sweep along 
In measured march, far as the eye can reach 
Onward they come, still onward to the beach, 
Lo ! in the van, with manes of flying foam, 
Rank upon rank like fierce war-steeds they come, 
As up the beach the snow-white lines advance 
Their curling manes in the gay sunlight glance. 

But ah ! these words are feeble — lovely isle ! 
Whether the summer waves serenely smile, 
Or wintry breakers dash with solemn roar 
Around thy stern and wild — thy noble shore — 
Thou hast a charm no pen or tongue can tell. 



267 



TRENTON FALLS. 

BY THE EEV. ABEL STEVENS. 

Trenton Falls are in the town of Trenton, about 
fifteen miles in a northern direction from the city of 
Utica. It may seem an extravagant enthusiasm to 
undertake a ride of thirty miles, and that a digres- 
sion from the regular route, for the purpose of seeing 
a single object j but no one endowed with even an 
ordinary love of nature will feel unrecompensed by 
a visit to these beautiful cascades. We started 
about nine o'clock in the morning on horseback. 
After passing through the village of Trenton, you 
immediately ascend a small hill, on the summit of 
which is a finely situated hotel, where you dismount 
and prepare to descend to the stream which forms 
the cascades. 

The rivulet is called the West Canada Creek. The 
falls are about twenty-four miles above its confluence 
with the Mohawk river ; they extend about two 
miles, and are six in number. A ridge of limestone, 
reaching from the Mohawk to the St. Lawrence, 
crosses the bed of the river through an interval of 
about five miles, and it is by the tortuous channel 
which it has worn for itself through this ridge, with 



'2l)S TRENTON FALLS. 

the numerous precipices which its waters have boon 
excavating for ages, thai an assemblage of natural 
features lias boon produced which tonus a picture 
unrivalled for beauty, at least in our own country. 
you descend from the hotel, on the summit of 
the hill, a precipitous declivity, by numerous Sights 

of steps, to the river which lies entirely concealed 

with overhanging forests, and is not perceptible until 
you step into the very ravine through which it 
meanders. On reaching this position, your progress 
is instantly arrested to gaze with wonder and delight 
on the scenery, beautiful beyond description, which 
immediately opens to your view. Above, lofty and 
almost perpendicular hills II ft their summits upward 
o( 100 feet, robed with thick forests until within 
about twenty feet of their base, where the limestone 
is exposed in perfect Stratification, worn into a thou- 
sand varied lines ot beauty, by the waters which no 
doubt, formerly washed them. Below, the strata 
extend out beneath your feet making a level path- 
way sutliciently wide, with the exception ol occa- 
sional places where it is contracted to a few inches. 
and frequently projecting so far as to form large 
table rocks. These continued strata break nearly 
in their centre, affording a channel o( varying width 
for the stream, which whirls along with great 



TRENTON FALLS. 269 

rapidity, its waters clear as crystal, now flowing 
smoothly like the surface of a mirror reflecting the 
small strip of sky perceptible above the tops of the 
hills and the foliage on (heir declivities, and then 
foaming over the reefs that interrupt their course, 
now, sweeping rapid as a lightning streak through 
deep chutes which they have cut for themselves, and 
then winding a serpentine course, in rolling eddies 
until they lose themselves in the distance. Now, 
suppose an assemblage of scenery a thousand times 
more delightful than this attempted description, ex- 
tending for about two miles, with, at suitable inter- 
vals, six splendid cataracts tumbling over romantic 
precipices varying from twenty to forty-eight feet 
in depth, with lofty embankments, in many places 
projecting in threatening cliffs, under which you 
tremble with apprehension, and here and there large 
numbers of forest trees growing horizontally in 
their fissures, and pending over the winding waters 
as if charmed by their beauties, or stooping to imbibe 
their refreshing spray. Imagine such a scene as this 
fenced in by mountains from all around, accessible 
to the spectator only by few and somewhat difficult 
passages, every object shut out from the sight but 
the heavens above and the scenery below, where 
the mind can commune only with beauty and soli- 
24* 



270 TRENTON FALLS. 

tude — and then you may have some conception of 
this loveliest workmanship of nature. The pros- 
pect from any one position is of but small extent, 
owing to the curvatures which the stream describes 
among the hills. This only adds to the interest of 
the scenery by dividing it into a succession of pic- 
tures, each perfect in itself, and sufficiently distin- 
guished. You may well suppose that such an in- 
teresting scene detained me the great proportion of 
the day, gazing and gazing again, wandering to and 
fro. ascending the cliffs, leaping out on the isolated 
rocks that lay in the channel of the stream, ventur- 
ing to perilous extremities of the banks, in order to 
blend the feeling of the terrible with the delightful, 
and varying my position as much as possible, that I 
might catch the full expression of the scene. Never, 
indeed did the true idea of the beautiful more entire- 
ly penetrate my soul. I rambled along the declivi- 
ties of the embankments as far as it was possible 
without being precipitated into the depths, some- 
times standing on small protuberances not more 
than four inches in width, and holding on to the 
cliffs above, while 20 or 30 feet below, the torrent 
was dashing onward in its course, as a cataract send- 
ing up its thundering roar. The whole mass of 
limestone forming the bed and banks of the river, is 



TRENTON FALLS. 271 

full of various organic remains, some rare and val- 
uable ; indeed they seem to form the substance of 
the rock, for scarcely can a square inch beneath 
your feet be found destitute of some impression of 
organic existence, which in an unknown period of 
the past found a place of being where now rest the 
deep foundations of a part of an extended chasm 
of mountains. Thus while the whole scenery of 
the place renders it a beautiful and befitting temple 
of nature to her God, the rocky laminae of the moun- 
tain are a record of great truths confirmatory of 
most important events in the providence of God, 
and in the narrative of his word — truths, recorded 
in hieroglyphics, which, after the obscurity of ages, 
modern science has deciphered with an accuracy 
almost infallible, and developed in them attestations 
of God's Holy Word. It may well be supposed that 
the Christian visitor, wandering alone amid these 
glorious solitudes, would catch the spirit of the 
scene, and, bowing on these entablatures of nature's 
ancient records, amid the entrancing beauty around 
him, send up his voice with the thunder of the 
cataract to Him who is God over all and blessed 
forever. 



272 
THE LIVING DEAD. 

BY WILLIAM J. PABODIE. 

" Dead men have come again, and walk about." — Blair. 
Slam bang ! — I sprang from my chair, 
As springs from her form the startled hare, 
When the rifle's report wakes the slumbering air. 
Ghosts, hobgoblins and corpses pale, 

Witches and warlocks, Erl-kings and all 
Such fancies as make up a German tale, 

And hold the soul in a fixed enthral, 
Had withdrawn my mind from the world around, 
And fast in the realms ideal bound, 
When burst on my ear that startling sound. 
I rushed to the window with fear aghast ! — 
'T was the slam of the blind in the nightly blast. 

The night was dark, save when the beams 
Of the moon burst thro' the jagged clouds, 
Hurrying by in flying crowds, 
And lit up the landscape with fitful gleams ; 
Or when the lightning flashed from afar, 
Or athwart the gloom shot a blazing star : — 
And hark to the moan of the lofty trees, 
As they bend their tall tops to the breeze ! 

The church-yard slept in the fitful light, 

And methought — was it true or fancy's flight ?— 

'Mid the grave-stones glimmering tall and white, 



THE LIVING DEAD. 273 

A troop of thin ghosts, like the shapes of a trance, 
Were flitting about in a shadowy dance. 

I rushed to the streets — the lights burned blue, — 

I passed them by and onward flew, 

And still I gave speed to my hurrying pace, 

For methought those sprites were behind in chase. 

A light gleamed forth with a dazzling glare, 

From a lofty hall, on the darkened air ; 

A figure stalked by me — I followed him in — 

He was tall and gaunt and lean and thin— 

I gazed around with a wondering stare, 

And as I gazed, up rose my hair ! 

Some three-score shapes were seated around 

That ample hall, nor breath, nor sound 

Disturbed the silence so profound. 

Fleshless they were, those ghastly men, 

And the bone shone white thro' the o'erdrawn skin, 

And O, 'twas an awful sight, to see 

The deathly glare of each stony e'e ! 

And look ! more forms come gliding in, 
Those spectral forms so tall and thin — 
And the dry bones rattled, as on they passed, 
Like leafless boughs in the wintry blast : — 
Methought the dead had returned to life, 
To revisit the scenes of their former strife. 

The last had entered, the door swung to, — 
I was alone with that ghostly crew ; 



274 THE LIVING DEADv 

And O, 'twas an awful thing, to be 
Alone in such fearful company ! 

On the rostrum now a shape arose, 
Whose look my blood with horror froze ; 
To his brow he lifted his skinny hand, 
And glower'd around on that grisly band, 
I looked as pale, I ween, as he, 
When he fixed that glassy eye on me. 

He comes, he comes, that fearful one ! 

He has left his rostrum high — 
He comes ! — each head is slowly turned, 

And on me is fixed each eye. 

I strove to rush from that haunted place, 
But my limbs were smote with fear ;. 

I strove to shriek, but my voice was mute — ■ 
That dreadful shape was near. 

He comes, he comes, that fearful one ! 

His breath, it fans my cheek — 
' T is chill as the breeze of the polar seas, 

When it blows from the icy peak ; — 
His shrunken face is close to mine, 

His hand is on my arm, 
And his lips, those skinny lips, they move — 

O God ! for fend the charm ! 

A voice came forth — it said to me, 
u Will you join the Graham Society I" 



275 



HENRY CLAY IX THE S E N A T E . 

BY THE HON. JOHN WHIPPLE. 

Mr. Clay had listened, day after day. with the 
determination to say nothing upon the subject which 
had been so long under debate. At last his patience 
became exhausted. His feelings impelled him to 
take the floor, and though calm, collected and full 
of dignity, his whole port and bearing heralded the 
approach of the godlike eloquence which was about 
to burst upon the American Senate. He rose with 
a sort of halo around him. Thoughts that breathe 
and words that burn, issued not- from his lips alone, 
but from every attitude, every gesture, every look. 
It was not merely a resistless tide, a tide of rower 
and giant strength, but a stream of glowing light, of 
sparkling beauty, of bewitching charms. Y r ou 
would have felt your hearts swelling within you. as 
he described the beauty and loveliness of your own, 
your native land. At one moment he was seen 
diving down to lowest depths of a clear and con- 
vincing logic : at another soaring aloft amidst the 
highest heaven of pure and patriotic feeling. At 
one moment piercing his antagonist with the sharp 
edge of the keenest irony. At another, overwhelm- 
ing him with the bolt of thundering indignation. 
Patriotism filled his heart with the warmest emotions, 



276 HENRY CLAY, IN THE SENATE. 

a clear and crystal head supplied him with the 
loftiest thoughts, and poetry yielded to his use her 
whole store of syren words, each one glittering with 
the rosy touch of her own heavenly pencil. On he 
moved in his own path of light, his country's wel- 
fare in his heart, and her standard in his hand, and 
he paused not, till the banner of freedom was seen 
floating aloft upon the ramparts of the constitution. 
Let it not be supposed, that I have alluded to the 
brilliant effort of this distinguished man, for the 
mere purpose of personal eulogy. I have alluded 
to it as but one of the many similar efforts, some of 
them quite its equal, of lofty, commanding and en- 
ergetic eloquence, which for the last ten years have 
characterized the friends of constitutional freedom 
in the American Senate. That little band have 
earned for themselves a durable and a lasting fame, 
For years they have stood upon the outward wall, 
and they have never for a moment, shrunk from the 
arduous duties of their dangerous position, but 
through good report and through evil report, they 
have delivered the whole word of the law, as re- 
ceived by them from the inspired framers of the 
constitution. 

They have received, what to lofty and noble 
minds is above all rewards, the approbation of their 



HENRY CLAY, IN THE SENATE. 277 

own consciences. Some of them have fallen by 
the wayside, worn out in the service of their coun- 
try. But many of them now live to enjoy the high 
reward of having imparted their own patriotic spirit 
to the people whose cause they have so nobly 
defended. That spirit it is which is now abroad in 
the land. It is no selfish, office-seeking spirit. It 
is the spirit of Brutus, which laid the imperial tyrant 
of Rome low in the dust. It is the spirit of Hamp- 
den, which brought to the block the head of a per- 
jured King. Nay, it is the still loftier spirit of 
Washington, which awakened the energies of a 
great and free people, led them through a long and 
painful struggle, and finally crowned them with an 
undying glory on the heights of Yorktown. That 
spirit will surely prevail, for it is abroad all over the 
land. From the mountain tops and from the valleys 
of the east, upon every peak of the extended Alle- 
ghany ridge — all over the ocean-like prairies of the 
west, and upon every mile of the great father of 
waters, from the Falls of St. Anthony down to the 
Gulf of Mexico, the banner of freedom proudly 
floats aloft in the breeze of heaven. Beneath that 
banner, the ocean roll of this grand and glorious 
sentiment, is heaving and swelling over a population 
of fifteen millions of freeborn men. 
25 



278 



A SEPTEMBER EVENING ON THE BANKS OF THE 
MOSHASSUCK. 

BY SARAH H. WHITMAN. 

" Now to the sessions of sweet, silent thought, 
I summon up remembrance of things past." 

Shahspeare's Sonnets. 
Again September's golden day 

Serenely still, intensely bright, 
Fades on the umbered hills away 

And melts into the coming night. 
Again Moshassuck's silver tide 

Reflects each green herb on its side, 
Each tasselled wreath and tangling vine 

Whose tendrils o'er its margin twine. 

And standing on its velvet shore 

Where yesternight with thee I stood, 
I trace its devious course once more 

Far winding on through vale and wood. 
Now glimmering through yon golden mist, 

By the last glinting sunbeams kissed, 
Now lost where lengthening shadows fall 

From hazel-copse and moss-fringed wall. 

Near where yon rocks the stream inurn 

The lonely gentian blossoms still, 
Still wave the star-flower and the fern 

O'er the soft outline of the hill ; 
While far aloft where pine-trees throw 



A SEPTEMBER EVENING. 279 

Their shade athwart the sunset glow, 
Thin vapors cloud the illumined air 
And parting day-light lingers there. 

But ah, no longer thou art near 

This varied loveliness to see, 
And I, though fondly lingering here 

To-night can only think on thee— - 
The flowers thy gentle hand caressed 

Still lie unwithered on my breast, 
And still thy footsteps print the shore 

Where thou and I may rove no more. 

Again I hear the murmuring fall 

Of water from some distant dell, 
The beetle's hum, the cricket's call, 

And, far away, that evening bell — 
Again, again those sounds I hear, 

But oh, how desolate and drear 
They seem to night — how like a knell 

The music of that evening bell. 

Again the new moon in the west, 

Scarce seen upon yon golden sky, 
Hangs o'er the mountain's purple crest 

With one pale planet trembling nigh, 
And beautiful her pearly light 

As when we blessed its beams last night, 
But thou art on the far blue sea, 

And I can only think on thee. 



280 



LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR, 

BY THE REV. EDWARD B. HALL. 

Our sympathy with this hour is almost wholly 
retrospective. It belongs to the Past. It has little 
association with the morrow. The morrow has a 
character entirely separate — not less important, but 
distinct. We may not close our hearts, if they are 
right toward the Giver we cannot close them, to the 
greatness and power of a new gift of existence. 
We all share the natural and ever fresh joy, which 
an opening year awakens. But the impression is 
playful and evanescent, compared with the concen- 
tration and awe, with which the mind hangs upon 
the few, not lightly flying, but soberly moving and 
gazing moments of the parting season. There is 
power in all seasons, and all impressions are mixed. 
But there is one element here that belongs to no 
other. True, it is an association that rests upon a 
division of time once artificial and wholly conven- 
tional. But it has become real. And now it takes 
hold of the natural and the powerful. It dwells in 
a deep and sober conviction, that we are waiting to 
catch the last message, we are losing the last day> 
we are enveloped in the last night, of a large and 
marked period of that mysterious thing which we 



LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR. 281 

call life ; and of which so much is now passing into 
that which we call death. It is not the future, so 
much as the past, and that which is growing into 
the past, that here stands before us, and lays its firm 
grasp upon our hasting spirits, and with subdued 
but all the more distinct and audible accent, bids us 
pause. Time himself, the hoary and swift mes- 
senger, seems not only to stop for a moment, but 
even to return, and fold his wings, and walk by our 
side, that he may take us earnestly by the hand and 
discourse face to face, ere he speeds away forever. 
Nor does this power of the closing year depend 
upon the peculiar complexion which the year may 
have worn to one or another. It may be affected 
by this peculiarity, but it does not depend upon it. 
He wrongs it, taking not only a selfish but a super- 
ficial view, who gives to this influence a merely 
personal character. Personal all influence must be, 
in one sense. Individual we are and human, nor 
from ourselves are we able, at any season, by any 
effort, to escape entirely. The past itself is indivi- 
dual to every man. Each of us, each and every 
one of mankind, has lived his own life. The space 
we are finishing has been to no two persons the 
same. To every mind in existence, it has been an 
individual and separate year. On each path it has 
25* 



282 LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAK. 

thrown different lights and shades. To each hear* 
that beats in the great universe of social and moral 
being, it has brought its own joy and its own 
bitterness, — with which no stranger, no friend 
can intermeddle. It is this thought, that gives to 
the present hour much of its influence. It is that 
its associations are individual, and yet common. 
None are excluded from them, and none can mo- 
nopolize. No man knows that the year has beeii 
more to him than to another, in influence, instruc- 
tion, or responsibility. Much as these have varied 
in kind, the amount may have been nearly equal to 
all. At least, the variation both in kind and amount 
has been determined more by the inward than the 
outward condition, and therefore has not been seen 
and cannot be fixed. Who can say, what workings, 
processes, experiences, there have been during the 
last year, within the breast of any one near or re- 
mote ? Who can number or describe even his own ? 
Could those of every one be recalled and revealed — 
all the thoughts, passions, affections, imaginations, 
the pleasures and griefs, that have swept over every 
heart, with the days and months, the meetings and 
partings, the gifts and losses, of the year now ebbing 
— could they all come thronging back upon us, and 
stand forth in our view, as they stand in the light 



LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR. 283 

of God's countenance, whatever else might be dis- 
closed, this should we all see — that not one has 
reason for pride or selfishness, and not one for indif- 
ference. 

Happy they " whose yesterdays look backward 
with a smile. :; The past is often present, and great 
is its power over every mind and heart. We can- 
not prevent its action, but we may profit by it. 
Many are they who are now experiencing its power. 
And with all. conscious or not. thoughtful or heed- 
less, life is closing a solemn account. Wherever 
placed, however occupied, one term of probation is 
ending to every intelligent creature. The fact that 
thousands think not of it, and care not, does but 
deepen the solemnity of the conviction. It is still 
true, that to every one, on whom time has laid a 
light or a heavy hand, to every soul in the busy 
city, in the great continent, in the waking or sleep- 
ing hemisphere, another year of opportunity and 
responsibility has gone — yea, more fearful, is just 
going — is now completing that marvellous change 
from the overhanging, all-grasping present, to the 
deepening and immoveable past. 

An important view of the past, urged upon us by a 
closing year, relates to that which men call '•'pro- 
perty. - * The world's moving power is gain. Man 



284 ' LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR. 

rises early and toils late, forms plans and devises 
implements, endures cold and heat, braves the perils 
of sea or wilderness, penetrates the heart of moun- 
tains, foregoes comfort, enjoyment, improvement, 
even character, all for property ! And property, 
never securely held, seldom quietly enjoyed, seldom 
indeed, existing as a part of the present, or the past, 
but only of the future. And yet where is there 
property of any kind, either so secure or so rich, as 
that which the past itself offers to those who seek ? 
Even to the mercenary, it gives that for which they 
should pay the debt of gratitude — its discoveries, 
inventions, detections, instruments and monuments. 
To the intellectual and moral, to the scholar, the 
artist, the statesman, the philanthropist, it is rich 
in gifts — and they may be had without price, and 
treasured where no moth can corrupt. All that ages 
have thrown up in their march, all that busy genera- 
tions have accumulated and worlds brought to light, 
the gathered stores of centuries, the works of science, 
the products of genius, the results of enterprise, sel- 
fish or benevolent, the experience and wisdom of 
all who have ever lived — these are not merely offered, 
they are thrown into the lap of the present, from 
the overflowing past. They are forced into the 
paths, and hands and minds of the living. Debtors 



LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR. 285 

are we all, with unmeasured obligation, to the ages 
that have moved along, and scattered seed, and 
planted truths, and lighted beacons on their course. 
If the actors themselves who have gone with them, 
have not always succeeded or attempted thus to 
enrich those who follow, God has done it, through 
them, and by his great teacher, destroyer and reno- 
vator. Time. And what we may specially note is, 
that these gifts and influences are ours, in a peculiar 
sense. They are necessarily and indestructibly 
ours. We grow up in the midst of them. We are 
fashioned by their power. They make most of the 
material of life's fabric. They are clothing to the 
body, food to the mind, discipline for the faculties, 
nutriment for the whole nature. The past encircles 
us like an atmosphere. It wraps us in countless 
seen and unseen folds, its very nature enters into 
ours, and becomes our property forever. 

This without effort. This is the appointed 
education and universal gift of God. Add effort, 
sympathy, grateful reception and discriminating 
appropriation — how is the gift enhanced and en- 
larged ! He who acknowledges the Giver, and 
uses all powers to make the property his own not 
simply by inheritance but by labor and reward, 
becomes proprietor in the true and noble sense, 



286 TO SWITZERLAND. 

Discernment; wisdom, self-culture, and independent 
fidelity, will draw from the past all that it holds, 
and more — by blending with it the influence and 
original action of every free and growing mind, and 
all that is thus gained, nothing, nothing can take 
away. The treasures of the past belong to the souU 

The future is, we know not what — 

Untried, unseen, unsearchable ; 
The present a contracted spot, 

Where the mind will not, cannot dwell ; 
And over these is ever cast, 
A blight or blessing from the past. 

Delusive hope before us springs, 

Still seeking some more sunny clime, 
And brings upon her halcyon wings 

Sweet promise for a future time. 
That time to us may ne'er be known— 
The past, the past is all our own. 



TO SWITZERLAND. 

BY THE REV. A. STEVENS. 

Romantic Suisse ! still are thy memories dear ; 
Thy snow-crowned peaks, thy crystal mountain rills, 
Meandering midst the sloping vineyards bloom, 
While blithesome songs of love and liberty 
Blend with the fanning breeze and strains of birds, 
And virgin hands the purple clusters pluck ; 
Thy verdant vales ! with adamantine walls, 
Snow-topped and reaching to the skies, fenced in ; 
Sweet garden spots of earth ! with flowers decked, 



TO SWITZERLAND. 287 

While, in strange contrast, hoary winter bends, 
Delayed and charmed, to smile upon the scene ; 
Thy lakes, thy beauteous lakes ! adorned with all 
The ever- varying hues of thy glad skies — 
Here shadowing forth the form of some tall cliff, 
And there the vineyard's gay luxuriant growth, 
While on their placid bosoms wave and glide, 
Like things of air, fantastic sails of skiffs. 

Sweet Leman ! on thy lovely shores full oft 
My youthful footsteps wandered with delight, 
And oft with heart entranced reclined beneath 
The shadowing mountain cliff, I drunk from thee 
Delicious draughts of poetry, till thought 
Dissolved away in airy reverie ! 
Thou art the mirror placed by nature's hand, 
Reflecting back her gayest, loveliest charms. 
Thy verdant shores are classic, on them roamed 
The Albion bard whose reckless muse protane 
Here felt thy inspiration, pure, intense, 
And kindling sung in chaster, nobler lays, 
Of freedom and of love, such as thine own ! 
The images of Julie, Clare, St. Preux 
Still dwell among thy beauteous scenery. 
The shades of Bonaventura, of Stael, 
Of Gibbon, Fernay's patriarch, and him* 
Whose thrilling pen drew lines of fire, haunt yet 
Thy sylvan solitudes. 
*Rousseau. 



28S TO SWITZERLAND. 

Mont Blanc ! — Oft have mine eyes gazed on thy brow, 
Thine awful brow ! but long to gaze once more 
Before the3 r close on earth. Thou art, dread peak, 
Alone, without a brother, like the God 
Whose hand almighty made and holds thee up, 
Sublime in thine own solitude ! The storms 
Pay worship round thee ; winds and thunderbolts 
Go from thy foot, like monarch's heralds swift, 
And ail the mountain tops responsive roll 
Their echoing homage on, with trembling awe ! 
The generations of the past have gazed 
On thee, but they have gone ; ten thousand more 
May look and die ; but thou wilt still remain, — 
For thou, dread genius of the mountain storm, 
Shalt only sink when nature sinks and dies, 
When suns go out, and stars from heaven fall. 

Land of glacier and the avalanche ! 

Thou wert not made to be the home of slaves ! 

The heart among thy lofty heights beats free, 

And trembles not at sceptres or at chains. 

God hath ordained thee freedom's mountain home, 

And built thy battlements up to his throne ! 

Firm hast thou stood in liberty's great cause, 

Midst falling states and changing monarchies. 

Still stand ! stand like thine everlasting hills ! 

The spirits of thy Tells and Winkelreids 

Are yet abroad, and thou needst never fall ! 



289 



THE RELATIONS WHICH THIS COUNTRY SUSTAINS 
TO THE NATIONS OF EUROPE. 

BY THE REV. FRANCIS WAYLAND, D. D. 

This country is evidently at the head of the popu- 
lar party throughout the civilized world. The state- 
ment of a few facts will render this remark suffi- 
ciently evident. 

1. This nation owes its existence to a love of 
those very principles for which the friends of liberty 
are now contending. Rather than bow to oppres- 
sion, civil or ecclesiastical, our fathers fled to a land 
of savages, determined to clear away in an inhospita- 
ble wilderness, one spot on the face of the earth 
where man might be free. Ense petit placidarn 
sub libertate quietem* 

. 2. This nation first proclaimed these principles, 
as the only proper basis of a constitution of govern- 
ment. 

3. This nation first contended for these princi- 
ples with perfect success. In other countries, at- 
tempts had been made to re-model the institutions of 
government. But in some cases, the attempt was 
arrested in its outset by overwhelming force ; in 

* The armorial bearing on the shield of Massachusetts. 

26 



290 RELATIONS WHICH THIS COUNTRY SUSTAINS 

others, the first movement having been succeeded 
by anarchy, anarchy gave place to military despotism, 
and this at last yielded to a restoration of the former 
dynasty. In our country first was the contest com- 
menced, in simplicity of heart, for the rights of man ; 
and when these were secured, here alone did the 
contest cease. Since our revolution, other nations 
have followed our example, and many more are 
preparing to follow it. But when the most glorious 
success shall have attended their struggle for liberty, 
they are but our imitators ; and the greatest praise 
of any subsequent revolution must be that it has 
resembled our own. Our heroic struggle, its perfect 
success, its virtuous termination, have rivetted the 
eyes of the people of Europe specially upon us, and 
they cannot now be averted. To us do they look, 
when they would see what man can do ; and while 
sighing under their oppressions, they yet hope to be 
free. 

4. And lastly, our country has given to the 
world the first occular demonstration, not only of 
the practicability, but also of the unrivalled su- 
periority of a popular form of government. It was 
not long since fashionable to ridicule the idea, that 
a people could govern themselves. The science 
of rulers was supposed to consist in keeping the 



TO THE NATIONS OF EUROPE. 291 

people in ignorance, in restraining them by force, 
and amusing them by shows. The people were 
treated like a ferocious monster, whose keepers could 
only be secure while its dungeon was dark, and its 
chain massive. But the example of our own coun- 
try is rapidly consigning these notions to merited 
desuetude. It is teaching the world that the easiest 
method of governing an intelligent people is, to 
allow them to govern themselves. It is demonstrat- 
ing that the people, so far from being the enemies, 
are the best, nay, the natural friends of wholesome 
institutions. It is showing that kings, and nobles, 
and standing armies, and religious establishments, 
are at best only very useless appendages to a form of 
government. It is showing to the world that every 
right can be perfectly protected, under rulers elected 
by the people ; that a government can be stable, 
with no other support than the affections of its 
citizens j that a people can be virtuous, without an 
established religion j and, more than this, that just 
such a government as it was predicted could no 
where exist but in the brain of a benevolent enthu- 
siast, has actually existed for half a century, ac- 
quiring strength, and compactness, and solidity with 
every year's duration. And it is manifest that no 
where else have men been so free, so happy, so en- 



292 RELATIONS WHICH THIS COUNTRY SUSTAINS 

lightened, or so enterprising, and no where have 
the legitimate objects of civil institutions been so 
triumphantly attained. Against facts such as these, 
it is difficult to argue ; and they furnish the friends 
of free institutions with more than an answer to all 
the theories of legitimacy. 

It is unnecessary to pursue this subject further. 
You are doubtless convinced that this country stands 
linked by a thousand ties to the popular sentiment 
of Europe. We have no sympathies with the rulers. 
The principles, in support of which they are allied, 
are diametrically opposed to the very spirit of our 
constitution. All our sympathies are with the people ; 
for we are all of us the people. And not only are 
we thus amalgamated with them in feeling, we are 
manifestly at the head of that feeling. We first 
promulgated their sentiments, we taught them their 
rights, we first contended successfully for their prin- 
ciples ; and for fifty years we have furnished incon- 
trovertible evidence that their principles are true. 
These principles have already girded us with Her- 
culean strength, in the very infancy of our empire, 
and have given us political precedence of govern- 
ments, which had been established on the old 
foundation, centuries before our continent was dis- 
covered. And now what nation will be second in 



TO THE NATIONS OF EUROPE. 293 

the new order of things, is yet to be decided; but 
the providence of God has already announced, that, 
if true to ourselves, we shall be inevitably first. 

Now to say that any country is at the head of 
popular sentiment, is only to say, in other words, that 
it is in her power to direct that sentiment. You are 
then prepared to proceed with me, and remark, in 
the next place, that it devolves on this country to 
lead forward the present movement of public opin- 
ion, to freedom and independence. 

It devolves on us to sustain and to chasten the 
love of liberty among the friends of reform in other 
nations. It is not enough that the people every 
where desire a change. The subversion of a bad 
government is by no means synonymous with the 
establishment of a better. A people must know 
what it is to be free ; they must have learned to 
reverence themselves, and bow implicitly to the 
principles of right, or nothing can be gained by a 
change of institutions. A constitution written on 
paper is utterly worthless, unless it be also written 
on the hearts of a people. Unless men have learned 
to govern themselves, they may be plunged into all 
the horrors of civil war, and yet emerge from the 
most fearful revolution, a lawless nation of sanguin- 
ary slaves. But if this country remain happy, and 
26* 



294 RELATIONS WHICH THIS COUNTRY SUSTAINS 

its institutions free, it will render the common people 
of other countries acquainted with the fundamental 
principles of the science of government ; this know- 
ledge will silently produce its practical result, and 
year after year will insensibly train them to freedom. 
Bat suppose the spirit of freedom to have been 
sustained to its issue, the blow to have been struck, 
and, either by concession or by force, the time to 
have arrived when the institutions of the old world 
are to be transformed ; then will the happiness of 
the civilized world be again connected most in- 
timately with the destinies of this country. An- 
cient constitutions having been abolished, new ones 
must be adopted by almost every nation in Europe. 
The old foundations will have been removed ; it 
will still remain to be decided on what foundations 
the social edifice shall rest. From the relation which 
we now sustain to the friends of free institutions, 
as well as from all the cases of revolution which 
have lately occurred, it is evident that to this 
nation they will all look for precedent and example. 
Thus far our institutions have conferred on man all 
that any form of government was ever expected to 
bestow. Should the grand experiment which we 
are now making on the human character succeed, 
there can be no doubt that other governments, fol- 



TO THE NATIONS OF EUROPE. 295 

lowing our example, will be formed on the principles 
of right. 

We have thus far spoken only of the effects which 
this country might produce upon the politics of 
Europe, simply by her example. It is not impossi- 
ble, however, that she may be called to exert an 
influence still more direct on the destinies of man. 
Should the rulers of Europe make war upon the 
principles of our constitution, because its existence 
" may operate as an example ;" or should a univer- 
sal appeal be made to arms, on the question of civil 
and religious liberty ; — it is manifest that we must 
take no secondary part in the controversy. The 
contest will involve the civilized world, and the 
blow will be struck which must decide the fate of 
man for centuries to come. 

Then will the hour have arrived, when, uniting 
with herself the friends of freedom throughout the 
world, this country must breast herself to the shock 
of congregated nations. Then will she need the 
wealth of her merchants, the prowess of her war- 
riors, and the sagacity of her statesmen. Then, on 
the altars of our God, let us each one devote himself 
to the cause of the human race ; and in the name 
of the Lord of Hosts go forth unto the battle. If 
need be, let our choicest blood flow freely ; for life 



296 THE FANCY BALI^ 

itself is valueless, when such interests are at stake. 
Then, when a world in arms is assembling to the 
conflict, may this country be found fighting in the 
vanguard for the liberties of man. God himself 
hath summoned her to the contest, and she may not 
shrink back. For this hour may He by his grace 
prepare her. 



THE FANCY BALL.* 

BY HENRY B. ANTHONY. 

As float the fancies of a gorgeous dream 
That vanished with the morning's earliest beam ; 
As haunts the ear some half-remembered strain 
It once hath heard, and seems to hear again ; 
As flowers whose beauty and whose bloom have fled. 
Each bright leaf withered and each green one dead, 
A grateful, an undying fragrance bear, 
To tell what blushing beauty once was there ; 
So turns my memory to that brilliant sight 
When wit and beauty held their festal night ; 
When the thronged hall its glittering groups displayed 
Of nature's loveliness, by art arrayed ; 
Of graceful forms that mocked the sculptor's art, 
And eyes whose glances reached the coldest heart, 

*Note 4. — See Appendix. 



THE FANCY BALL, 297 

Of all that beauty loves or taste admires, 
Of all that valor warms or genius fires. 

First raise yon curtain ; view the scenes that pass 
Like shadows floating o'er some magic glass. 
No canvass here, no painter tries his skill 
To fix the visions that his fancy fill ; 
But living pictures fast before us rise 
And breathing loveliness salutes our eyes. 

* * Blushing before us now 
A Novice kneels to take her sacred vow. 
Pure as the tear-drop glistening in her eye, 
Fair as the roses at her feet that lie. 
Close at her side a holy Bishop stands, 
The Book of Truth spread open in his hands. 
The mitred Abbess, bending o'er her low, 
Cuts the bright tresses clustering round her brow, 
And, breathing to her patron Saint one prayer, 
She gives to Heaven a maid for earth too fair. 

Again the scene is changed. Stern Seyd behold, 
Flashing with gems and glittering in gold, 
Fiercely on Gulnare turn his jealous eye, 
And speak the sentence, " Conrad sure shall die !" 

The palace fades ; — the scene is changed again ; 
And Conrad, sleeping on the dungeon's chain, 
Dreams of the island, o'er the deep blue sea, 
Where dwell the lion-hearted and the free ; 
Dreams of the eye that watches every sail 



298 THE FANCY BALL. 

To see his banner floating on the gale. 
But other eyes are gazing on his sleep ; 
Gulnare, with purpose firm, with vengeance deep*. 
Bends o'er his couch, and whispers in his ear 
A word, that, were he dead, he'd rouse to hear ; 
Raises a lamp unto his wildered sight — 
Points to the dagger glittering in it's light — 
And says, " I come, captive, I come to save ; 
Death to the tyrant f freedom to the brave !" 

Behold again the curtain slowly ris&, 

A fairer, softer scene now greets our eyes. 

Two Lovers, from Albania's classic land 

Are seated side by side, and hand in hand ;. 

She, blushing as the rose she gazes on ; 

He, wondering how such beauty may be won. 

Her hair is darker than the raven's hue, 

Her eyes as soft as Heaven's own fount of blue* 

Near did Illissus' stream reflect a face 

Of fairer beauty, more bewitching grace i 

Not Nymph nor Muse e'er tread, with step more light, 

In Tempers vale, or on Parnassus* height. 

Next Selim stands and kneeling at his side,, 
Zuleika, blooming as an eastern bride. 
Soft as the dying sunset's parting beam, 
Bright as the visions of a poet's dream. 

Once more the curtain raise ; — be drab the hue ^ 
Banish the gayer red, the gaudy blue. 



THE FANCY BALL. 299 

Yea, verily, friend Obadiah see, 

With broad brimmed hat, huge buckles on his knee, 

Turning on Deborah many a loving glance, 

Loath to recede, yet fearful to advance, 

If outer signs the " inner man" can prove — ■ 

Heaven save thee, Obadiah, ihee's in love. 

The picture fades, behold another scene, 

Fair Jeannie Deans, kneeling to England's Queen, 

With Beauty's power, and Nature's strength alone, 

Pleads for a life, far dearer than her own — 

While Scotland's Duke, with anxious brow, stands by, 

Hope in his heart, fear trembling in his eye. 

Sure rarer beauty never knelt to claim 

A sovereign's mercy for a sister's shame; 

Fear not, sweet suppliant, banish every pain, 

Such lips as thine can never plead in vain. 

But hark ! the music sounds, the dance ! the dance ! 
The brilliant throngs, in glittering lines, advance — 
And nodding plumes are mingling in the maze ; 
And knightly helmets shine and jewels blaze — 
The Brigand, rousing from his wounded side, 
Leads, in the merry reel his blooming bride. 
The dark Peruvian and the Naples Maid 
Fly through the waltz, or down the gallopade — 
Spain's haughty Grandee seeks the Gipsy Girl, 
And Greek and Moslem join the airy whirL 



300 THE FANCY BALL. 

Joy, joy beams bright on every face ; 

And manhood's strength and woman's grace 

Are here, in all their pride — 
And brighter is each sparkling eye, 
And on each cheek, a deeper dye, 

As rolls the living tide. 

From every clime where beauty smiles ; — 
From Scotia's hills — from Grecia's isles ; — 

From India's spicy groves, 
From Cashmere's perfumed vale of flowers — 
From Russia's snows, from Persia's bowers ;- 

The throng of beauty moves. 

With quiver o'er his shoulder flung, 
And bugle-horn around him slung, 
With unstrung bow and snow-white plume, 
A youthful Hunter treads the room. 
See, at his side, a Flower Girl stand, 
A basket in her tiny hand, 

With flowers of every hue — 
With every leaf that's sweet or bright — 
The rose's red — the lilly's white, 

The violet's modest blue — 
But none so sweet and none so fair, 
As she, who holds the basket there ! 

Here stand the veteran Sons of Mars 
Marked with the honorable scars 
Of many a well-fought field. 



THE FANCY BALL. 301 

And hearts that never bowed before, 

To manhood's strength — to woman's power, 

At length have learned to yield. 
The voice that paled the foe to hear, 
Now whispers soft in Beauty's ear ; 
And Beauty's form leans light, upon 
The arm that urged the battle on. 

Bold James Fitz James and Rhoderick Dhu 

Meet in the circling dance ; 
Yet neither hostile weapon drew, 

Nor cast one angry glance. 

With coat embroidered and with powdered hair, 

And dress of half a century, gone by, 

The master of the mansion standing there, 

With right old English hospitality, 

Receives each guest and bids the wine cup fly. 

The Banquet comes ! and the broad tables groan 
'Neath the heaped luxuries of every zone ; 
And wines and liquors, bottled ere the flood, 
Pour their rich tide and spill their purple blood. 

Morning ! and nothing of the scene remains, 
Save the dull head-ache, throbbing in the veins. 
And every bird that dared the evening blaze, 
Pales it's false plumage, in the sun's bright rays, 
Hunter and Brigand, Turk and courtly Lord 
Doff the gay plume and lay aside the sword ; 
27 



302 PHILIP OF POKANOKET, 

Spaniard and Moslem meet, to ask the price 

Of cotton, " strictly prime," and " common" rice* 

I saw a Duke and Knight together meet ; 

Low bent the Duke — yet not at valor's shrine ; 
Down knelt the Knight — yet not at beauty's feet, 

But striving both, to pick " good fair" from "fine." 

Alas ! alas ! this week-day, work-day life — 
That all that's brightest, all that's noblest, best, 

All that consoles us for its weary strife, 
And all that gives to time its little zest, 

Should be, at most, bwifancy^s transient beam — ■ 

Fade in a tableau, vanish in a dream ! 



PHILIP OF POKANOKET, 

BY GEORGE F. MAN. 

To close this protracted drama so prolific in tragic 
incident, and worthy to fulfil the destiny apparently 
assigned him of becoming the sejDulchre of Indian 
glory, now appeared upon the stage, Massassoit's 
second son, Alexander's brother, Pometacom or the 
famous Philip ; a man of comprehensive vision, 
profound policy, enterprising genius, subtile address, 
lofty soul, and the keenest sensibility ; one of those 



PHILIP OF POKANOKET. 303 

-extraordinary characters, (met with from time to 
time in the history of mankind at impressive distances 
from each other) who are brought forward, if not 
wholly formed by the course of events, but, under 
the particular circumstances of their coming, seem 
expressly empowered by heaven to spread havoc and 
desolation, and to attest the divinity of their mission 
by exultingly pointing to the wounds which they 
sink into the very hearts of their oppressors. At 
a subsequent period, after the catalogue of injustice 
and cruelty had been greatly swollen by the English, 
Mr. Hubbard, the devout historian of Massachusetts, 
tells us, that nothing had transpired to warrant the 
discontent of Philip, and the historian of Massachu- 
setts would have us believe, that the confederate 
colonies of Massachusetts, Plymouth and Connecticut 
had been lulled into the most fatal security by the 
peace, the harmony and feeling of brotherhood, 
which their mild, just, merciful, generous and disin- 
terested policy towards the Indians had universally 
diffused. 

The people of Plymouth, too, through their Gov- 
ernor, make it a matter of great merit and praise, 
that their solicitude for the Indians increased exactly 
in proportion as the objects to which it was directed 
were made to decrease j that, when they had de- 



o 



04 PHILIP OF POKANOKET. 



prived Philip of nearly all his lands, they sedulously 
betook themselves to devising means to ensure his 
possession of the residue ; that, for leaving him 
little or nothing, he was amply compensated by the 
consciousness of increased security in the enjoyment 
of that which was left ; in short that they were at 
especial pains to draw around the remaining territory 
of this former sovereign of the forest a most beauti- 
fully constructed fence, which, though it might in- 
cidentally serve to coop Philip in, and present, in 
more definite outline, to his mind the image of 
what he had become, and, under the continuing 
tutelage of his protectors, might still farther expect, 
was wholly designed to protect him against the 
intrusion of the whites, or rather such of the whites 
as might not as wisely have considered as them- 
selves, that there is a point of suffering beyond 
which endurance ceases, and as nicely weighed the 
farthest limits of practicable oppression. 

But imagine yourself to stand where Philip stood ; 
to be what Philip was, — qualified by natural capacity 
and also from position to contemplate fully and 
comprehend exactly his peculiar situation, to look 
forward, backward, through and beyond things. 
Recall to mind the first coming of the Europeans, 
their exasperating aggressions, the depopulating 



PHILIP OF POKANOKET. 305 

pestilence which followed in their train, the arrival 
of the Pilgrims, their suppliance and humility in 
weakness, the generous hospitality which made 
them strong, or the kind forbearance which permitted 
them to become so at the hazard of its noble authors, 
the strength which warmed into life their injustice, 
their continual and never ending encroachments 
upon — or artful appropriations of Indian lands, 
incited by avarice and assisted by superior know- 
ledge ; their gradual usurpation of power over the 
persons and liberties of independent nations, — with 
no pretext but religion, with no authority but the 
charter of a king beyond an ocean three thousand 
miles in extent, to whom these men owed nothing, 
of whom they had received nothing, wanted nothing 
and knew nothing but through the delusive tales of 
his grasping subjects ; the formation of treaties not 
understood, entered into under compulsion, and for 
the sole benefit of their contrivers, their arbitrary 
exactions under them and severe inflictions for their 
non-fulfilment by the Indians, their own unscrupu- 
lous violation of them, the extinction of a whole 
people, prefaced by the slaughter of their chiefs and 
the usurpation of their soil, the assumption of a 

wasting and harassing supremacy over the Narra- 

27* 



306 PHILIP OF POKANOKET. 

ganset Sachems, in return for the most generous 
offices, the murder of the noble My autonomy for 
sheltering a fugitive from their persecution, the last 
days of his aged uncle, Canonicus, descending to 
the grave amidst his own and his people's fears, 
their unvarying injustice to his successors, their 
distinguishing favor to, open encouragement or 
secret abetting and support of their butcher, Uncas, 
the treatment of good Massassoit, Philip's father, 
the exasperating to madness and death, Alexander, 
Philip's brother ; or turning to the present and 
future, see Philip surrounded by living and suppliant 
memorials of English cruelty appealing to every 
sympathy that could stir a generous bosom ; the 
English, in spite of his remonstrance, still infusing 
into his people a taste for ostentation and cajoling 
them by traffic when force could find no pretext ; 
himself, in possession of comparatively a barren 
sceptre, the fruit of English friendship — fenced in 
already, and the whites still urging him, when shy, 
to further traffic, the fiery circle of civilization daily 
girting more closely its writhing victim! And he, 
alas, an object of hatred for his knowledge of the 
past, of jealousy, for the domain he still possessed, of 
suspicion, for the resources his genius could still 
command, and the multiplied powerful motives 



PHILIP OF POKANOKET. 307 

which they had given him to put them all in requisi- 
tion. See this hatred, unable to repress itself, pro- 
voking him to pursue with uplifted tomahawk into 
the midst of the whites, one who under their favor 
had dared to offer him the greatest of Indian insults, 
that of jeeringly recalling the name of his deceased 
ancestor. See this jealousy with avarice combined, 
forever busy in curtailing his estate, and this suspi- 
cion dogging his footsteps, and finally disarming him 
and his men, and declaring forfeit the weapons 
which their own cupidity had furnished, at a time 
when Indian arms had been generally disused for 
forty years, when the Indian chase grounds had 
been greatly circumscribed or mostly appropriated 
by the English, and one of the chief resources of 
Indian subsistence had in a great measure disap- 
peared, and the attainment of what remained had 
been made more difficult, if not impossible, by the 
use of former methods of capture, in consequence 
of the rapidly progressing strides of the whites. 
Imagine Philip upon Mount Hope, revolving these 
things, with every billow associating some new 
image of grief, and calling to imagination those hap- 
pier days of his ancestors when they roamed undis- 
turbed over their wide domain and breathing every 
where the air of freedom, chased into toil with lusty 



308 



ELEGY. 



sinew the savage inhabitant of the forest, or luxu- 
riously reposing upon the sunny rock waited the 
capture of their rich repast from those yet unmo- 
lested waters. 



ELEGY. 

BY ANNE C. LYNCH. 

There was no bell to peal thy funeral dirge, 
No nodding plumes to wave above thy bier, 
No shroud to wrap thee but the foaming surge, 
No kindly voices thy dark way to cheer ; 
No eye to give the tribute of a tear. 
Alone, " unknelled, uncoffined," thou hast died, 
Without one gentle mourner lingering near ; 
Down the deep waters thou unseen didst glide, 
With Ocean's countless dead to slumber side by side. 

Thou sleepst not with thy fathers. O'er thy bed, 
The flowers that deck their tombs may never wave, 
To plead remembrance for thee, o'er thy head 
No sculptured marble shall arise. Thy grave 
Is the dark, boundless deep, whose waters lave 
The shores of empires. When thou soughtest thy rest 
Amid their silent depths, they only gave 
A circling ripple, then with foaming crest 
The booming waves rolled on, o'er their unconscious guest. 



ELEGY. 309 

*T is said, that far beneath the wild waves rushing, 
Where sea flowers bloom and fabled Peris dwell, 
That there the restless waters cease their gushing, 
And leave their dead within some sparkling cell, 
Where gems are gleaming, and the lone sea shell 
Is breathing its sweet music. And 't is said 
That Time, who weaveth over earth a spell 
Of blight and ruin, o'er the Ocean's dead 
He passeth lightly on, with trackless, silent tread. 

Then, though no marble e'er shall rise for thee, 
No monument to mark thy last, long home, 
Thine ocean grave unhonored shall not be. 
The coral insect there shall rear a tomb 
That age shall ne'er destroy ; and there shall bloom 
The fadeless ocean flowers. And though the glare 
Of the bright sunbeams ne'er shall light its gloom, 
Yet glancing eyes and forms unearthly fair 
Shall throng around thy couch, and hymn a requiem there. 

Now fare thee well ! I will not weep that thou 
Didst pass so soon away ; for though thou wert 
Still in thy boyhood's prime, and thy fair brow 
Undimmed by care ; yet sad was thy young heart, 
For thou hadst seen thy light of life depart, 
And Love had thrown a wild and burning spell 
Around thee, and with sly insidious art 
Had maddened thee. Then sounded loud the knell 
Of all thy bright young dreams. My earliest friend, farewell ! 



310 



GOFORTH INTO THE FIELDS 

BY WILLIAM J. PABODIE. 
" The world is too much with us." — Wordsworth. 
Go forth into the fields, 
Ye denizens of the pent city's mart ! 
Go forth and know the gladness nature yields 
To the care wearied heart, 

Leave ye the feverish strife, 
The jostling, eager, self-devoted throng ; — 
Ten thousand voices waked anew to life, 

Call you with sweetest song. 

Hark ! from each fresh clad bough, 
Or blissful soaring in the golden air, 
Bright birds with joyous music bid you now 

To spring's loved haunts repair. 

The silvery gleaming rills 
Lure with soft murmurs from the grassy lea, 
Or gaily dancing down the sunny hills, 

Call loudly in their glee ! 

And the young wanton breeze, 
With breath all odorous from her blossomy chase 
In voice low whispering, 'mong th' embowering trees 

Woos you to her embrace. 



GO FORTH INTO THE FIELDS. 311 

Go — breathe the air of heaven, 
Where violets meekly smile upon your way ; 
Or on some pine-crowned summit, tempest riven, 

Your wandering footsteps stay. 

Seek ye the solemn wood, 
Whose giant trunks a verdant roof uprear, 
And listen, while the roar of some far flood 

Thrills the young leaves with fear ! 

Stand by the tranquil lake, 
Sleeping 'mid willowy banks of emerald dye, 
Save when the wild bird's wing its surface break, 

Chequering the mirrored sky — 

And if within your breast, 
Hallowed to nature's touch one chord remain ; 
If aught save worldly honors find you blest, 

Or hope of sordid gain ; — 

A strange delight shall thrill, 
A quiet joy brood o'er you like a dove ; 
Earth's placid beauty shall your bosom fill, 

Stirring its depths with love. 

O, in the calm, still hours, 
The holy Sabbath hours when sleeps the air, 
And heaven, and earth decked with her beauteous flowers, 

Lie hushed in breathless prayer, — 



312 LIBERTY ? S TREES, 

Pass ye the proud fane by, 
The vaulted aisles, by flaunting folly trod, 
And 'neath the temple of the uplifted sky, 

Go forth and worship God ! 



LIBERTY'S TREES. 

BY THE HON. JOSEPH L. TILLINGHAST. 

(Written early in 1812, in prospect of hostilities with France or 

England.) 

O leap from the mountain, thou firm rooted Oak, 

And shake off thy vesture so grand, 
Yield thy rugged old limbs to the architect's stroke 

And sweep from the foam-whitened strand. 

Down, down from thy highland, thou winterless Pine, 

O cast thy green mantle away ; 
Thy head — with the streamers of war let it shine ; 

Thy breast — let it dash the storm-spray. 

Trees hallowed and sacred ! Full long have your brows 

In Heaven's golden lustre stood shining ; 
While shaded, beneath, by j'our balm-breathing boughs. 

Religion and Peace were reclining. 

And oft in the tempests of vengeance and power, 

Your bosoms the glebe have defended ; 
And oft on your heads, that still steadily tower, 

The shaft due to man has descended. 



liberty's tree. 313 

Now leave the old mountain all bare to the storm 

And let the free bolt round us roll ; — 
The tempest can only our bodies deform, 

But servitude killeth the soul ! 

See o'er the red wave, ever blushing with gore, 

False Gallia her pennons advancing ; 
Beneath the dark Eagles so ruthless that soar 

How the eyeballs of Rapine are glancing ! 

Beyond, see old Albion her War-Cross display 

Both the Free and their foe to appal — 
As the lion and panther contend for their prey, 

So the Briton and Frank for our fall. 

Ye Cedars, ye Firs, that the torrent floods lave, 

Descend from the heights ye adorn ; — 
In the cloud of your canvas, far-shadowing the wave, 

Be the thunder of Liberty borne ! 

Rush, rush, thou warm blood through the veins of our youth, 
And, while their swoln bosoms are beating, 

Let them strike, and strike firmly, for Freedom and Truth, 
One blow, that may need no repeating ! 

Then hail to the years that in honor shall flourish 

When glory and safety combine ; 
Once more, grassy hills, 'mid the bowers that ye nourish, 

Religion and Peace shall recline. 

28 



314 



PERRY, ON LAKE ERIE. 

BY THE HON. TRISTAM BURGES. 

Commodore Perry arrived at Erie on the 26th of 
March, 1813. He carried with him from Newport, 
149 men and three boys, all of whom were volun- 
teers. 

The fleet of Eneas, so Maro sings, when riding 
at anchor in the Tyber, and, in his absence attacked 
by the Rutulians, and likely to be burned, was, by 
a miracle of poetic mythology, changed into a shoal 
of dolphins, and went off sporting down the stream ; 
and if so, they may, for aught we know, be at this 
time playing about the mouth of that river ; or 
showing their bright sides to the sun, in other parts 
of the Tyrean sea. 

Perry and his hardy Rhode -Island mariners, tra- 
velled up to the lake, for something not quite so 
poetic. 

They were required to change the oaks, and the 
green pines and hemlocks, then standing on those 
shores, into a fleet of ships and vessels, and fit them 
out to encounter, and overcome, in battle, on those 
waters, a fleet then armed, equipped and manned 
with British sailors; men, who had never, before 



PERRY, ON LAKE ERIE. 315 

that time, met an equal, in any fleet, on that ele- 
ment. 

In this there was no poetry, nor any other miracle 
than bone labor, matchless skill, and unconquerable 
bravery. 

Every Yankee is an axe man ; and all the com- 
panions of Perry were of the full blood ; and most 
of them the best of that blood, the Rhode-Island 
stock. 

These, with a few more shipwrights, smiths, 
caulkers, riggers, and sailmakers, built and equipped 
this fleet ; and launched the whole into the harbor 
of Erie, rigged and ready to. sail, in about ninety 
days, after the first blow was struck. 

They built from the stump, six vessels ; the Law- 
rence, of twenty guns — two long twelves, and 
eighteen 24 pound carronades ; the Niagara, of two 
long twelves, and eighteen 24 pound carronades ; the 
Ariel, of four guns, 18's and 24's ; the Scorpion, of 
two guns, thirty-twos ; the Porcupine, of one gun, a 
thirty-two ; and the Tigress, of one gun, a thirty-two. 

During the same time, they repaired and made 
efficient, the Caledonia, of three guns, 24's and 32's ; 
the Somers, of two guns, thirty-twos ; the Trippe, 
of one gun, a thirty-two, and the Ohio, of like force, 
but not in the battle. 



316 PERRY, ON LAKE ERIE. 

At the mouth of the harbor of Erie, there is a 
bar ; and on this, the water was then so shallow, 
that the vessels could not be floated out over it. 
They had been built in this place, because, in no 
other on the lake, could they be secure from the 
enemy. 

To carry them out over the bar, in the face of 
this enemy, superior in force, had they all been 
furnished with guns, and, as it must be, entirely 
unarmed, was a labor which tasked the Yankee in- 
vention, no less than the valor, of the young Com- 
modore and his associates. 

They were loaded on the backs of camels, and 
carried out over the bar into deep water. An Arab, 
who, from the back of his camel, on the desert, had, 
at a safe distance, looked at the French and English 
fleets, in the bay of Abouker, would not believe a 
word of all this story. 

It is literally true. These camels were of sim- 
ple mechanism, and American manufacture. They 
were long, broad, deep boxes, made of planks, like 
scows, and perfectly water tight ; with holes to fill, 
and sink, and pumps to exhaust them of water, and 
raise them so as to float with their upper edge high 
above the surface* These, placed on each side, and 
connected by strong beams, on which the vessels 



PERRY, ON LAKE ERIE. 317 

being placed when they were sunk ; thus raised 
the vessels up above the bar, when the camels were 
pumped out, and rose again by their own buoyancy. 

The guns of the fleet had been mounted in bat- 
teries on the shore ; and the militia, under General 
Mead, then encamped in the neighborhood, were 
embodied, and united with the seamen in defending 
these vessels, while they were thus travelling over 
the bar, on the backs of these able bodied camels. 

Thus, in the face of an enemy, superior in force, 
this fleet was built, put afloat, and equipped. The 
enemy, however, before they were ready to make 
sail, withdrew to the harbor near Maiden ; and re- 
tired under the guns of the British fortress. 

The British vessels were stout built, with thick 
bulwarks of solid oak ; but the American were 
built in a hasty manner, and intended merely to 
carry guns and men j and bring them down along 
side of their adversary. 

How long the British fleet might have kept their 
shelter, in the harbor of Maiden, is not known. 
Exigences called them out ; the want of provision, 
in the British army, compelled them to put out, and 
attempt to clear the lake of the American fleet ; so 
that they might, with safety, run down to Long 
Point, their depot of stores, and provision the camp. 
28* 



318 PERRY, ON LAKE ERIE. 

The British fleet had a veteran commander, the 
American, a young sailor. Barclay had conquei^ed 
with Nelson, at Trafalgar ; Perry had probably 
never seen the combined movement of ships, in a 
fleet, formed in line of battle. 

The two fleets might be equal in number of men ; 
but all, in the British, were seamen, or marines, or 
soldiers ; while many, in the American, were militia, 
or new levies, from the ranks of the army. 

In number of vessels, we exceeded by three ; the 
enemy had a superiority of ten in the number of 
guns. The vessels of the enemy were impervious 
to the shot of our carronades ; but their long guns 
hulled the thin sides of our vessels, through and 
through. Let Him be praised who has told us that 
" the battle is not always to the strong.' 7 

On the night of the 9th of September, 1813, the 
American fleet lay moored at Put-in-Bay, on the 
southwest shore of Erie. At daylight on the 10th 
the enemy were discovered from the mast head of 
the Lawrence, far up the lake in the northwest. 
This was, by signal, immediately communicated to 
the fleet ; and, at the same time, the signal was 
given to get under weigh. 

Commodore Perry, soon after, hoisted his broad 
pennant on board the Lawrence, inscribed with the 



PERRY, ON LAKE ERIE. 319 



immortal words of him whose name his vessel 
bore — " DonH give up the ship" And at the sight 
of it, the loud huzzas of the mariners resounded 
over the lake, from deck to deck, along the whole 
American line ; and awakened the echoes which 
had been sleeping on those waters and shores, ever 
since the morning stars sang together. 

The breeze being light, the American fleet was 
two hours in bearing down under all sail over this 
smooth surface of nine miles. The wind, though 
light, was steady ; and not a new movement was 
made in steerage, running geer, or sail. All were 
silent. It was, in both fleets, the stillness of the 
elements, before the storm of the hurricane. I will 
not believe one bosom palpitated with fear ; but 
many a one beat with an aspiration, and a hope for 
victory. In that awful pause, when at times, every 
eye glanced on every other eye, and all were ming- 
ling souls in a sympathy of courage and daring 
among their comrades and commanders, how many 
young hearts, for the last time, breathed a sigh and 
prayed a prayer, for home, parents, brothers, sisters, 
and for u the bosom friend dearer than all ?" Many 
a bright and moist eye looked, for the last time, on 
the green shores and sunny hills of their country. 
Rashness, without courage, may rush thoughtlessly 



320 PERRY, ON LAKE ERIE. 



into the battle ; but nothing but valor of soul can 
stand unmoved, and wait for the coming conflict of 
life or death, victory or defeat. 

They stood every man silent at his post ; while 
the breath of heaven, born to fill the sails of com- 
merce, and which never had before, seemed reluctant 
now, on those quiet waters, to aid men in mutual 
destruction. ****** 

At the close of the battle, Perry set up no exclu- 
sive claims to the glory of the victory. He sub- 
mitted all, with unexampled modesty, to the award 
of his country. 

Look at his despatches ; does he tell what / have 
done ? To General Harrison — " We have met the 
enemy, and they are ours.''' To the Secretary of 
the Navy — " It has pleased the Almighty to give to 
the arms of the United States a signal victory over 
their enemies on this lake. The British squadron 
consisting of two ships, two brigs, one schooner, 
and one sloop, have this moment surrendered to the 
force under my command, after a sharp conflict." 

Nothing can be so conspicuous as the modesty r 
unless it be the piety, of this most perfect of all 
naval despatches. How could he say less of him- 
self ? The victory had been given by Him who 
gives all things — had been given, not to him, but to 



**» 



PERRY, ON LAKE ERIE. 321 

the American arms. The British squadron had sur- 
rendered to the force ; what force ? He could not 
avoid saying, to the force under my command. 
One epithet only, tells the nature of the battle ; it 
was a sharp conflict. He puts under sail none of 
that squadron of adjectives, after which, a young 
egotist would have sent his first victory to the Naval 
Department. 

The living can protect their own characters. 
Those who are dead, and who fell in the national 
service, have left their fame, perhaps the only in- 
heritance of their children, to the safe keeping of 
their country ; and wo betide a people, when they 
permit the sanctuary of human glory, frail and per- 
ishable as it is, to be profaned and plundered* 

It was sacrilege among the ancients, and deemed 
abhorrent to gods and men, to destroy, or remove a 
stick or a stone, from a trophy erected, by a con- 
queror, on a battle field, or by the shore where a 
naval victory had been achieved. 

Let the people of Rhode-Island protect with a 
pious diligence, the tombs and the glory of their 
buried patriots and heroes ; and alike abhor those 
who would tarnish the one, or demolish the other. 

*Note 5. — See Appendix. 



322 



THE DWARF'S STORY. 

BY FRANCES H. WHIPPLE. 

" Nay, listen to me, Lilian ! I 'm not mad. 

Linger and listen. I would tell a tale — 

Oh, God ! sustain me ! — but 't will wring thy hearty 

I would not grieve thee — thee, my only friend ! 

But yet I cannot — how can I forego 

Thy precious sympathy ? Give here thy hand ; 

I '11 hold it thus in mine. There, turn away, 

And look not on me ; for I cannot bear 

That thou should'st feel disgust — -that thou should'st loathe* 

Though the sharp hiss of universal scorn 

Has been my only greeting from the world. 

Lilian, thou hast dear woman's gentleness, 

Without her vanity. O, thou might'st lead 

The noble and the great in pleasant thrall, 

Casting such chains as men delight to wear ; 

Yet, dearest, thou art mine — the friend of him 

Who has no other. Yes, I owe thee much." 

- 6 Thou ow'st me nothing. Mine—all mine the debt ! 
Do I not owe thee all I value most — ■ 
Treasures of intellect, the wealth of mind ? — ■ 
What had I been this moment, but for thee ? 
O, cold will be this heart ere I forget 
My endless debt of gratitude and love I" 



THE DWARF'S STORY. 323 

She turned her blue eyes on him, with the tears 
Softening their lustre, like the pearly gems 
Of dew in violets. The little hand 
Trembled within its confines. One low sigh 
Escaped his quivering lips. 

" Dear girl, beware. 
Reprove, condemn, or scorn me ; but do not, 
For my sake and thy own, O do not be 
Thus kind, thus gentle, or I shall forget 
My vow of fealty. Yet leave me not ; 
And fear me not. Within this shapeless clod 
A spirit dwelleth, fervid, pure, and high, 
As thy own spotless one. It loveth thee 
And cannot do thee wrong — would not for worlds, 

" Be calm and hear me dearest Lilian, 

A living curse I came into the world ; 

And when I was an infant — ay, a babe, 

My little, hideous, melancholy face 

Drew nought but hatred on me. Then I learned. 

Ere I could syllable the simplest word. 

The worth of beauty ; for I saw it give 

All that a child desireth unto him, 

My bright eyed brother. He was beautiful. 

My mother loved him ; — but she hated me ! 

I 've seen his dimpling arms around her neck ; 

And, looking on him, her expressive eye 

Was one rich gush of love ! Then how I longed 



324 THE DWARF'S STORtf. 

To cling there too, and share her dear embrace ! 
But, oh, if I drew near, a cold repulse, 
A loathing look, a shudder of disgust, 
Told me how dear I was. Yet, even then, 
My heart was burning, bursting with its love, 
That yearned to gush, nor asked a meet return. 
But nothing loved me. My old ugly nurse, 
The dogs, the horses ; yea, the very cat, 
Read in my crouching brow — my skinny limbs, 
The brand of hate, and loathed the cursed one ! 
Even when a child I prayed, I longed for death ! 
The grave could have no terror ; and the worm, 
With all its slimy length twined in my hair, 
Or knotted in my bosom, could not loathe 
The form he feasted on ; and this was joy ! 
The noisome reptile seemed to me a friend ! 

" O, dry thy tears, dear Lilian ! Do not weep ! 
I cannot bear to see thee weep for me ! 
I envied every thing, for nothing lived 
Cut off from love and its sweet fellowship, 
With one accursed exception ! The poor moth 
That fluttered for an hour, and then was gone, 
Had brethren like itself. The vilest thing 
Knew kindred, and the claims of kindred love ! 
There was an idiot child, inert as clay, 
I envied for his very senselessness, 
And wildly prayed that I might be like him ! 
O, had I met one kind, one gentle look, 



the dwarf's story. 325 

One token of affection, I had been 

Happy despite my fatal ugliness ; 

And I had loved with more than human power ! 

But crushed affections petrified within ; 

And all my latent love to hatred turned, 

Creating gangrene to corrode itself. 

" The measured wrath not yet had touched the brim. 
Heaven gave a little sister. Months went by, 
I durst not look upon her. She was kept 
Far from the frightful monster. Still I caught, 
At times, a passing glimpse. How fair she was ! 
Her little cherub form — her silvery voice — 
Her thousand beauties — thousand witcheries — 
Mocked me with all their loveliness ; and then 
My spirit's venom took a bitterer depth ! — 
I hated her ! — I hated that fair child 
With half a thought of murder! But, at length, 
One pleasant eve, as little Marion sat 
Twining her fingers in the chesnut curls 
Of my fair brother, in her gleeful sport 
She pulled the silken mesh. Enraged with pain, 
He flung her, screaming, on the marble floor ! 
She looked to me for comfort — looked to me! 
Merciful God ! I thank thee, even now, 
For but the memory of that blessed look ! 
I clasped her in my arms. She clung to me. 
She laid her cheek to mine ; and, sobbing low, 

She murmured, in her sweet imperfect way, 
29 



326 the dwarf's story. 

The name of brother ! Nature taught the word ; 
How, else, could she have given the name to me ? 
The flint burst quick within me and the ice 
That lay beneath was melted into tears. 
The gushing torrent checked me. 

« Need I tell 
How day by day she loved me ? How I lived 
Like one awaking from a horrid dream — 
Waking to life, and happiness and love ? 
They could not tear her from me. Gratitude, 
Or cherub pity for the hated one, 
Made that angelic spirit all my own. 
I only lived when with her — only slept 
That I might dream of her. A thought of death 
Would sometimes cross my brain and madden me ! 
The augury was prophetic. She grew ill. 
I watched by her. I never left her couch 
For one long, awful week — and then, she died. 
The light of my existence was put out ! 
The living fountain of my desert failed ! 

" My former bitterness with awful strength 
Gathered back its tide, and overwhelmed my soul ; 
And festering deep within the sorest part, 
The venom lay of disappointed hope : 
And then the beaker of my lot was full ! 

" I watched the body. None could tear me thence. 
When none were by to blame, or to forbid, 



the dwarf's story. 327 

I took her from the coffin, held her close 
Within my flaming bosom, with a hope 
Its fever yet might warm her. All in vain, 
No single tear relieved me. Back I laid, 
For the last time, my treasure ; and sat down 
With all the silent firmness of despair. 

M I begged — I prayed in vain. They buried her. 
Night after night, and day by day, I watched 
Beside the lonely tomb. At midnight deep 
I called to her, entreating for one word ! 
I made the silence vocal with my cries ! 
And then I listened — listened without breath, 
For the dear name of brother ! O, I thought, 
Might that one word be whispered from the grave, 
I could go back and be at peace again ! 
But echo mocked me, as I called her name ! 
The deep shades mocked me, and the placid stars ; 
The cold earth mocked me, and the heartless moon ! 
All nature mocked me. Nothing, nothing knew 
What the heart suffers that has lost it's all ! 

" Insanity relieved me ; for my brain 
Was touched with raging fever. But I rose 
From my lone couch of bitter suffering 
With a new purpose graven in my soul. 
I had the spell of genius. Fame had called. 
I heard her syren voice, and vowed a vow 
-To be what men adore ; and thus avenge 



328 the dwarf's story. 

The shapeless body, through the overmastering mind ! 

Then silently I turned away, and bound 

My soul to its grim purpose. Long, long years, 

Of deep, intense, unceasing study, wrought 

With the quick fires of genius, gave a name 

Emblazoned with the loftiest — won the meed ! 

" I wore my triumph proudly, for a while ; 
But when I longed for kindness, then I found 
Fame, honor, glory, could not purchase love ! 
My reputation was an ice-berg, high, 
Magnificently cold, unenvied, lone ; 
And in the splendid panoply I stood, 
As a volcano 'neath a frozen sea. 

" I left my native land, and wandered here : 
Then, on the darkness of my being, rose 
The lovely morning star. O, need I say 
Whence came that thrilling heart-beam ? Lilian 
I need not tell thee how my buried love 
Warmed into being, lived again in thee ; 
Yet chastened bv a sorrowful mistrust 
Of its endurance — by experience taught ! 
O, hadst thou been as shapeless and deformed 
As this vile clod, how madly could I love ! — 
Ay, worship thee — hoping for love again ! 
But, now, endearing as thou art, and kind, 
I wrong thee not — I know thou canst not love. 
'T is well. Hark, hark ! Didst hear a thunder tone ? 
It comes ! 't is coming ! This is my last hour ! " 



the dwarf's story. 329 

" Oh, no ! what meanest thou ? It cannot be." 

" Peace, dearest Lilian. Listen yet again. 
When I am gone, and thou dost wander here, 
At eve, or morn, or the deep stilly noon, 
Then think of him who woke the latent springs 
Of genius in thy soul ; of him who led 
Thy spirit from the shadows, giving thee 
Sources of pleasure thou hadst never known. 
Think of him then, beatified, and pure, 
An angel presence, beautifully fair, 
Waiting in some sweet bower of Heaven for thee ! 
Thus shall it be, my Lilian. We shall wed. 
Our God shall join our spirits ; and the lyres 
Of cherub, and of seraph, shall be swept 
To gladden our espousals ! O, I know 
We shall be wedded for eternity ; 
And, hand-in-hand, and soul inwrought with soul, 
We shall advance forever, finding out 
The living waters through the maze of love, 
And light, and music, that make heaven, Heaven, 
With such a gush of worship on our lips 
As may wake angels to new songs of praise ! 
Look to this hope, my Lilian, and I know 
My memory shall live within thy soul, 
Like a shrined presence, where affection still, 
May minister, and hold communion sweet ! 
I know thy gentle nature. Kind and true 
Will be the tears thou givest. Weep not long ; 
29* 



330 the dwarf's story. 

But go abroad, and con my lessons o'er. 

The flowers, the rocks, the stars, the clouds, the dews. 

Are living with them. Ponder on the laws 

That animate, and govern^ and sustain ; 

And thus remember me, but not with tears. 

" Again that thunder ! I have had a dream — 
A horrid dream ! That vivid flash again ! 
The scene, the hour, were such as even now 
Are round and o'er us. Hither then we came ; 
And we did sit as now ; one gentle hand 
Pressed fondly thus in mine. Nay, tremble not. 
This lofty elm, those venerable oaks, 
Hung their rich shade below. The laughing brook 
Was gurrulous and clear ; and as light clouds 
Passed o'er the sunshine, shadows swept along 
O'er the swayed grass as coolingly as now. 
A cloud came up and blackened suddenly — 
Like yonder frowning one. O, leave me not ! 
I told the tale I Ve just related thee ; 
And one bright tear stood in thine either eye ; 
One yellow curl, like this, was on thy neck ; 
Thy drooping eyelids fell, as now they fall ; 
Thy soft, transparent cheek was pale and cold ; 
And thou wert sweetly beautiful, as now ! 
I held thee to my bosom. Nay, shrink not, 
I'm telling thee a dream ? My yearning soul= 
Exhaled itself in one long, frantic kiss ! 
Thus, even thus, my lips were joined to thine } 



EXTRACT FROM A POEM. 331 

A horrid flash (like that !) it blasted not ! 
And yet I fell. I felt thy fingers press 
Upon my eyelids ! Lilian ! Lilian ! Oh ! — 
Great God ! forgive me ! — Lilian ! Water ! — " 

?(S T^ "j? tP <|> t* »jC t^ "7? 

The lightning had not touched him ; but he lay, 
Low at the feet of the distracted girl, 
A livid corse ; thus yielding up to her 
The highest sacrifice of love — a heart 
That could not prove its worth, until it broke ! — 
And yet that shapeless being had a mind 
To pierce the deepest mystery — a heart 
That might have won an angel from its sphere ! 
He walked alone amid a world of love, 
Dying for what is wasted ; like the wretch, 
Stricken with pestilence, who lays him down 
In nature's loveliest bower, where waters play 
Almost within his touch. The cooling plash, 
Mocking his thirst to madness, still he hears ! — 
Oh, aggravating torture, thus to die ! — 
While floods are round, to perish for a drop ! 



EXTRACT FROM A POEM. 

BY THOMAS A. JENCKES. 

If no true spirits there were left to guide 
The trembling state o'er faction's stormy tide, 
If no tried steersman seize the rocking helm, 



332 EXTRACT FROM A POEM. 

Shun the wild waves that threatening yawn to whelm. 
If from this fount the stream of poison steals 
Through all the nation loves, or thinks, or feels. 
Beware, proud Union, though thy power and wealth 
May gild the ills that mine thy public health. 
Though 'neath thine eagle flag, proud navies ride, 
Where winds can waft, or ocean heaves his tide, 
Though still thy call the patriot's heart should warm* 
Fire the true soul, and nerve the sinewy arm. 
Though from each mountain height to ocean wave 
Swells the deep anthem of the free and brave ; 
Yet could these save thee, when the poison's course 
Shall taint with death, thy life-blood's inmost source. 

So thine own bird, the warrior Eagle, nurst 
Where rolls the avalanche, and thunders burst, 
Soared from his mountain eyry, free and high, 
And thousands watched him wheeling through the sky ; 
Upward he sprang exulting on its flight, 
Then paus'd and fluttered — from his cloudy height, 
Men saw his fall, and wonder'd as they gaz'd ; 
No bolt was sped — no blasting lightning blaz'd. 
The secret viper curled beneath his wing, 
Poison'd the life blood in his heart's warm spring, 
Sank the proud bird, once monarch of the skies, 
His dying hymn the raven's funeral cries. 

Yet fear we not — a bold and Spartan band 
Rise firm midst them whose contests shake the land, 



SONG OF THE WINDMILL SPIRITS. 333 

We trust a power above all rulers' art, 
The power that guides to truth the human heart ; 
And while yon eagle standard floats, and thrills 
The heart that's nurtured on our own free hills, 
No power but heaven, no victor but the grave, 
Can crush that band, omnipotent to save ! 



SONG OF THE WINDMILL SPIRITS. 

BY ALBERT G. GREENE. 

Ha, ha ! — here we are, and the moon has not set ; 
And the mossy old Windmill is standing here yet. 

The harvest is gathered, the summer has gone, 

And again we rejoice in the scent of the corn. 

Up all, — to the wings now ! blow high, or blow low, 

Round on the old Windmill once more we will go ! 

The trees have been leafless, their branches all white, 

Since we left it, last autumn, one cold, frosty night, 

And went far away from the region of snow, 

To see the magnolia and locust-tree blow : 

Then, the warm, sunny fields of the south we have trod, 

To see the white cotton burst out from its pod ; 

And then, far away to the bright torrid zone, 

Where the orange, and lemon, and citron have blown. 

But once more, the season we love has come round, 

And here, to enjoy it, again we are found ; — 

And while the bright moon which now lends us her beam, 



334 SONG OF THE WINDMILL SPIRITS. 

Is looking alone on the rock and the stream, 

And gently the dews of the midnight distil, 

We will have one more ride on the wings of the mill ! 

Stretch out, then, stretch out, to the end of each wing, — 
And send them all round, with a good, hearty swing ; 
Up and down — up and down — send them merrily round, — 
Bear them down on that side, from the sky to the ground : 
Now up ! — send them up : — on this side let them fly 
With a bound from the ground, till they point to the sky — 
Now they crack : never mind, — they are used to the strain : 
Up with them once more, — now down with them again ! 

How gaily, that morning, we danced on the hill, 

When we saw the old Pilgrims here building a mill m r 

There, at day-break, we stood when they laid the first stone. 

And came, every night, till their labor was done. 

How often around its old wings we have hung, 

And have gambolled and laughed, and have shouted and sung^ 

Its frame-work all fell, ere a century waned, — 

And only the shaft and the millstones remained. 

It was built all of wood, 

And bravely had stood, 
Sound hearted and merry, as long as it coul d: 

And the hardy old men 

Determined that then 
Of firm, solid stone they would build it again, 

With a causeway and draw, 

Because they foresaw 



SONG OF THE WINDMILL SPIRITS. 335 

It would make a good fort in some hard Indian war. 
But they all are gone, its old builders are gone, — 
They are all in their graves, and a new race is born : — 
All, all of its builders, — the head which had planned, 
Each hand which helped raise it, each honest old hand, — 
They are gone, all are gone,— all are low in the mould, 
And the new mill itself is an hundred years old. 
But still, when the harvest has been gathered in, 
Up here in the moonlight we always have been ; 
In the soft autumn midnight, still, year after year, 
The wind and the moonlight have found us all here. 

But when the frost comes and the sleet and the snow, 
And the green leaves are dead, then far southward we go, 
And rove 'mid the rich fields of rice and of cane, 

Till the bright northern summer recalls us again. 

We love the clear breeze o'er the pine-covered hill, 

As it sings through the wings of the sturdy old mill. 

There it comes ! now spring out to the end of each sail, — 

And let each arm bend like a mast in a gale. 

Round with them, — round with them, — the wind is too slow, 

Bear down all together, hallo ! there, hallo ! 

Fill the hoppers below — heap them up till they choke, — 

And let the old stones then fly round till they smoke ! 

Round, round, send them round with a merry good will : 

Ha ! ha ! we are back to the rattling old mill. 

And Ephraim, the miller, the drowsy old head, 
Who lies now at midnight asleep in his bed, 



336 SONG OF THE WINDMILL SPIRITS. 

Should he wake, would suppose 
That because the wind blows, 
And for no other reason, — around the mill goes, — 
When, at sunrise, he comes, and our work he has found, 
How little he '11 know how his grist has been ground, — 
Then, round, — send it round ! — for our work must be done 
Ere old Father Ephraim appears with the sun. 

Though fair are the plains of the south and the west, 
We love the green fields of New-England the best. 
For here, while we see o'er the golden-edged plain, 
Each low, fertile hillock all waving with grain, 
We know, that rewarding its patience and toil, 
The hand of the free reaps the fruit of the soil. 
We are free as the blue air around us is free, — 
And so we would have all God's creatures to be. 

Ha, ha ! a fresh breeze now comes over the hill : 
Each sail feels its breath : — now they stiffen and fill ! 
Now, now, all is straining above and below, — 
And round the quick circle we merrily go : 
Round, round, — and now hark to the musical tones 
That come quivering out from the whirling old stones ! 

What joy can compare 

With the life that we bear : — 
The earth is our play-ground, our home is the air. 

How happy are we, 

How happy are we, 
'Midst the beautiful things of the land and the sea. 



SONG OF THE WINDMILL SPIRITS. 337 

When the moonbeams fall clear, through the silence of night, 
And the dew-drops are sparkling like gems in the light, 
We love, bounding forth with the speed of the gale. 
The rich, teeming cornfield's sweet breath to inhale^ 
While each stalk gently bends, as they bear us along, 
And waves its green arms in response to our song, 
And the spindle's tall plume that droops over its head, 
Just moves in the air, as it springs from our tread. 

And when our gay revels have drawn to a close, 
'Mid the cool, verdant foliage, how sweet to repose : 
Or to rock in the leaves, when all round us is stilled, 
And commune with the life with which nature is filled. 

Which above and below, 

Forever doth flow 
Rejoicing around us, wherever we go, — 

And to mortals unknown, 

To us hath been shewn 
By Him who made all and who sees all alone. 

How often we listen delighted, to hear, 
Beside the green folds of the delicate ear, 
The voice of the tender young mother of corn 
Singing 'mid her fair brood which within it were born, 
While breathing in fragrance and cradled in silk, 
They are drawing forth life from her fulness of milk. 

And when the bright days of the summer have fled, 
Its beauty all withered, its verdure all dead, 
The care and the toil of the season all past, 
30 



■ 



338 SONG OF THE WINDMILL SPIRITS. 

And the full, golden harvest is gathered at last,-^ 
When the gay, merry groups to the husking repair, 
'Though unseen and unheard, yet we often are there. 
While the chinks of the barn are all streaming with light, 
And sounds of loud glee wake the echoes of night, 
Our voices prolong 
The laugh and the song, 
And answer each shout that bursts forth from the throng. 

And when the new grain comes its hoppers to fill, 

How dearly we love the old corn-scented mill. 

Hallo, then, — rouse all ! Ere the night watch is past, 

One more merry round let us have, and the last. 

To the ends of each arm ! — and now pour in the corn : 

The daylight is coming, and we must be gone. 

Round with them ! — ha, ha ! how like willows they spring ; 

And the sails go down skimming like birds on the wing. 

Rise all with them cheerly, — then down let them come : 

And now hear the stones, how they sparkle and hum. 

As they rapidly swing, 

In its fire-circled ring 
Each seems like a glad living creature to sing ! 
Hark, hark, to their song, how it gushes and swells 
With sounds like the low, distant chiming of bells. 
Once more, all together : — now, up from below ; 
There is light in the East ; — we must go — we must go. 

There's a cloud passing by, 
Over head in the sky, 



SONNET. 



339 



And there, for an hour, we our fortune will try ; 

It is time to be gone, 

For the day will soon dawn, 
And the cloud reddens now with the tints of the morn. 

It is waiting us there, 

And our troop it must bear 
On a cool, pleasant sail through the pure morning air. 

See, the coming of day, 

We must not delay : 
Up ! through the blue ether ! up, up, and away ! 

And now, the old mill 

May go on, if it will, — 
Or fold up its wings, for a while, and be still. 
1839. 



SONNET. 
ILLUSTRATING A PICTURE. 

BY JAMES HOPPIN. 

Now bright beneath them gleamed the sunlit vale, 

And just discerned, the cot from whence they passed, 
When stayed the creaking wheels, and slow and pale 

Stepp'd forth the sorrowing emigrants, to cast 
Upon the home they left, one gaze, — the last. 

The grandsire shaded with his trembling hand 
The dim eye, strained upon the roof he reared ; 

The son but looked, and bowed himself, unmanned, 






3 10 E LDEB El V* BUS 

bis \ rse^s neck, whose rough breast Glared 
His master's agony ; — unl rest 

.ed tearless, and her iuiant son 
WV.iv. in silence to her tranquil breast, 
\> | tOQgh slue felt wherever doomed to roam, 
W k!\ him aud with his sire — there vmtid he home* 



F I D F L W E K S . 

n s u .-. -.. "■ ...v 

RjSXEXV- tS Of 

] a bring sweet thoughts of the year's purple prime* 
Wild, mingling melodies of bird and bee 

That pour on summer s eir silvery chiiv 

And of ltd Dense, burdening all the air, 

Prom Aowers that by the sun: > .;. Vn wall 
Bloomc.. side, — norsed into beauty there 

By vic« s - Bwers . but these to all 

1 8 bring, < ; ; Vir than these the spell 

S sd in those fairy urns rbr me alone, 
a chain sleeps ach honied i 
lose power ean eall baek hours of rapture flown*. 

Tones ooks an< wet bat ma v return no more. 



341 
THE FORSAKEN WIFE 

BY GEORGE W. PATTEN. 

'T is past the hour of evening prayer ! 

What lonely watch is mine ! 
I hear thy step upon the stair — 

No — no — it is not thine ; 
'T was but a sound the tempest made, 
Along the moaning balustrade. 

What Circean spells — what Syren charms- 

What words of secret art : — 
Thus keep thee from my longing arms, 

Oh partner of my heart ? 
And am I not thy chosen bride, 
Who — what can take thee from my side ? 

Soft words may fall from lips refined — 
From eyes, soft glances shine : 

But 'mid the crowd thou may'st not find, 
A heart that loves like mine ! 

The very tear thy coldness brings 

Seems welcome — since for thee it springs. 

Have I not smil'd when thou wert gay ? 

Wept — did thy look reprove — 
Lov'd thee as woman sometimes may, 

As man can never love ! 
30* 



342 SONNET, 

All this — yea more — 'twas mine to give ;- 
And unrequited — yet I live ! 

Yet thou didst once with accents bland, 

Beside me bend the knee i 
And swear, in truth this little hand, 

Was more than worlds to thee ! 
This jewelPd hand, — what is it now 1 
The token of a broken vow ! 

Oh love F How oft the bridal ring, 

Binds fast its golden tie : 
To make the heart a slighted thing, 

You pass unheeded by — 
The charm is broke — the spell is gone — 
And conscious woman weeps alone 1 



SONNET. 

BY WILLIAM J. HOPPIN. 
(Suggested by the late disgraceful transactions in Florida.) 
Say it in whispers, that the sons of those 
Who fought beside our Fabius, Washington, 
Inheriting a glory, which was won 
By honorable port to friends and foes, 
Should fling away their birth-right, and enclose 
In a vile ambush that undaunted one, 
Who yielded to their treachery alone. 



TO THE TRAILING ARBUTUS. 343 

The arm their valour did not dare oppose ! 
Hush ! for the Dead at Lexington who sleep, 

The Forlorn-Hope of Freedom must not hear 
That our degenerate hands, to which they gave 
Truth's spotless banner, all unstained to keep, 

And in her mighty vanguard to uprear, 
Have left it buried in a half-breed's grave ! 

1838. 



TO THE TRAILING ARBUTUS FOUND BLOOMING 
THROUGH THE SNOW. 

BY SAMUEL W. PECKHAM. 

I found thee smiling 'mid surrounding gloom, 
While yet the whistling winds their revels kept, 
And nature in the embrace of winter slept ; 

Ere spring's sweet songsters had began to plume 

Their airy wings : 't was then thy modest bloom 
From underneath the mouldering foliage crept, 
And, as around thy frosty bed I stepped, 

The spotless snow seemed almost to assume 
A crimson tint, reflected from thy blush ; 

And as I gazed, thy modest beauty gave 
My heart a lesson, and the prayer did gush 

That thus I might death's chilling influence brave, 
And that, like thee, my parting soul might flush 

With cheerful light the darkness of the grave. 






344 



ON SEEING A GRAVE WITHOUT A STONE. 

BY PAUL ALLEN. 

Alas ! no scutcheon'd marble here displays, 
In long-drawn eulogies, thy name and worth ; 

Such servile homage adulation pays 

To a poor mouldering clod of common earth. 

The pompous eulogy, emblazon'd high, 
With all the glare that flattery can bestow, 

In splendid falsehood strikes the trav'ler's eye, 
And makes the silly tear of pity flow. 

The yellow cowslip, and the violet blue, 

The pallid daisy, growing by thy side, 
Are all, poor peasant ! that remains to you j 

But nature gives what haughty man denied. 

Sweet, simple trophies ! and to me more dear 
Than all the arrogance of letter'd lore : 

Receive the tribute of a parting tear, 

Warm from my heart ; a bard can give no more. 



STANZAS. 

BY JOSIAS L. ARNOLD. 

Vain is the cheek's vermilion hue, 
The forehead smooth and high, 

The lip, like rose-buds moist with dew, 
And vain the sparkling eye. 



A NOVEMBER LANDSCAPE. 345 

Vain beauty's self the heart to bend, 

And in love's fetters bind, 
Unless with grace external blend 

The graces of the mind. 

The flow'r that's ting'd with various dyes, 

At first may lure the eye ; 
But if no fragrance from it rise, 

'T is pass'd neglected by. 



1791. 



A NOVEMBER LANDSCAPE. 

BY SARAH H. WHITMAN. 

How like a rich and gorgeous picture hung 

In memory's storied hall, seems that fair scene 
O'er which long years their mellowing tints have flung ; 
The way side flowers had faded one by one, 
Hoar were the hills, the meadows drear and dun, 
When homeward wending 'neath the dusky screen 
Of the autumnal woods at close of day, 
As o'er a pine-clad height my pathway lay, 
Lo ! at a sudden turn, the vale below 

Lay far outspread all flushed with purple light, 
Grey rocks and umbered woods gave back the glow 

Of the last day-beams fading into night, 
While down a glen where dark Moshassuck flows 
With all its kindling lamps the distant city rose, 



346 



SPRING. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF TIECK, BY HENRY C. WHITAKEE. 

See, see how the Spring like a glittering bride, 

Comes forth on the hills in beauty and pride ; 

She flings o'er the forest her mantle of green, 

Where the blossoming trees so gracefully lean, 

And the bird in the branches in merry mood sings, 

As he shakes the bright drops of the dew from his wings. 

See, see on the soft blushing cheek of the flower, 

The red glow grows deeper and deeper each hour ; 

The winter-frost flies to his cavern so old, 

Far down their dark chambers all dismal and cold — 

While old earth throws aside his gray robes to the rain 

That is falling so gently on river and plain ; 

And stretches, in joy, his broad arms to embrace 

The light form of Spring with her fair smiling face. 

Down, down the rough mountains, the silver streams leap 

And dance in the valleys so lonely and deep ; 

No longer the nightingale fears the rude blast, 

But sings in the green-wood that winter is past. 

Many a shadow grows bright in the beams, 

That sparkle and flash from ths swift-bounding streams ; 

Many a leaf like a diamond gem, 

Is waving in beauty on many a stem ; 

Rainbows are playing on many a flower, 

As it lifts its thin petals that drip with the shower ; 

And the earth, like a monarch, majestic and old^ 

Sits high on a throne of purple and gold. 



347 



THE DEATH BED OF BEAUTY 

BY JAMES O. ROCKWELL. 

She sleeps in beauty, like the dying rose 

By the warm skies and winds of June forsaken ; 
Or like the sun, when dimmed with clouds it goes 

To its clear ocean-bed, by calm winds shaken ; 
Or like the moon, when through its robes of snow 

It smiles with angel meekness — or like sorrow 
When it is soothed by resignation's glow, 

Or like herself, — she will be dead to-morrow. 

How still she sleeps ! The young and sinless girl ! 

And the sweet breath upon her red lips trembles ! 
Waving, almost in death, the raven curl 

That floats around her ; and she most resembles 
The fall of night upon the ocean foam, 

Wherefrom the sun-light hath not yet departed ; 
And where the winds are faint ! She stealeth home, 

Unsullied girl ! an angel broken-hearted ! 

Oh bitter world ! that hadst so cold an eye 

To look upon so fair a type of Heaven ; 
She could not dwell beneath a winter sky, 

And her heart-strings were frozen here, and riven, 
And now she lies in ruins — look and weep ! 

How lightly leans her cheek upon the pillow 1 
And how the bloom of her fair face doth keep 

Changed, like a stricken dolphin on the billow. 






348 
LINES. 

BY MRS. SOPHIA M. PHILLIPS. 

Oh know you not, my friends, my friends, 

Your faces will arise 
On silent wings at evening, 

Before my gushing eyes ? 
On silent wings at evening, 

When I shall long to stand 
Beneath the pleasant light of smiles, 

Within my own dear land. 

I have not loved it well before, 

This dearest, greenest spot ! 
Where nothing now hath ever been 

That I remember not. 
Oh ! earnest sounds will follow me 

Upon the happy breeze ; 
Blending of names and voices, 

Home music o'er the seas ! 

And I shall turn me fervently, 

To meet its melting power, 
And fill with love my yearning soul, 

In record of the hour. 
And still from each surrounding spell, 

My spirit breaking free, 
Shall hear and hail forever 

This music o'er the sea. 



s r 



APPENDIX. 



Note 1.— Page 29. 

In 1724, Dean Berkeley published his proposals for the conversion 
of the American savages to Christianity, by the establishment of 
a college in the Bermuda Islands. The plan was very favorably 
received ; and he obtained a charter for a college, in which he was 
named the first President. He received, also, from Sir Robert 
Walpole, a promise of a grant of twenty thousand pounds to carry 
it into effect. He landed at Newport, after a tedious passage of 
five months, in January, 1729. Soon after his arrival, the Dean 
purchased a country seat and farm about three miles from Newport, 
and there erected a house which he named Whitehall. He was 
admitted a freeman of the Colony, at the General Assembly, in 
May, 1729. He resided at Newport, about two years and a half, 
and often preached at Trinity Church. Though he was obliged to 
return to Europe without effecting his original design, yet his visit 
was of great utility in imparting an impulse to the literature of our 
country, particularly in Rhode-Island, and Connecticut. During 
his residence on the Island of Rhode-Island, he meditated and com- 
posed his Alciphron, or Minute Philosopher, and tradition says, 
principally at a place about half a mile southerly from Whitehall. 
There, in the most elevated part of the Hanging Rocks, (so called) 
he found a natural alcove, roofed and open to the South, command, 
ing at once a beautiful view of the ocean and the circumjacent 
islands. This place is said to have been his favorite retreat. His 
Minute Philosopher was published in London, in 1732, shortly after 
his return. This acute and ingenious defence of the Christian 
religion, is written in a series of dialogues, after the model of 
Plato. 

31 



350 



APPENDIX. 



To Bishop Berkeley, the literary institutions of New-England 
are much indebted. He visited Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1731, 
and during his residence at Newport, augmented the library of 
Harvard College by valuable donations of the Latin and Greek 
classics. To Yale college, he presented eight hundred and eighty 
volumes, and, on his departure from Newport, he gave the White- 
hall estate, consisting of his mansion and one hundred acres of 
land, for three scholarships in Latin and Greek. After his return 
to England, in 1733, he sent a magnificent organ, as a donation to 
Trinity Church, in Newport, which is still in constant use, and 
bears an inscription which perpetuates the generosity of the donor. 
— Elton's Notes to the Memoir of Cullender. 



Note 2.— Page 106. 

Ezra Stiles, D. D., L. L. D. was the son of the Rev. Isaac Stiles, 
of North Haven, Connecticut, and was born Dec. 10th, 1727. He 
graduated at Yale College in 1746, with the reputation of being 
one of the most accomplished scholars it had ever produced. In 
1749, he was chosen one of its tutors, and in that station he re- 
mained six years. He was ordained pastor of the second Congre- 
gational Church, in Newport, Rhode-Island, the 22d of October, 
1755, and continued the able, devoted, and highly esteemed minister 
of that Church, till he was elected President of Yale College, in 
1777. He presided over that institution, with distinguished ability, 
till his death, May 12th, 1795, in the 68th year of his age. Presi- 
dent Stiles was one of the most learned men that our country has 
ever produced. As a scholar, he was familiar with every depart- 
ment of learning. He had a profound and critical knowledge of 
the Latin, Greek, French and Hebrew languages ; in the Samari- 
tan, Chaldee, Syriac and Arabic he had made considerable progress ; 
and he had bestowed some attention on the Persic and Coptic. He 
had a passion for history, and an intimate acquaintance with the 
rabbinical writings and with those of the fathers of the Christian 
Church. Dr. Stiles maintained an extensive literary correspon- 
dence with many eminent persons in remote quarters of the globe ; 
and his name was enrolled as a member of several learned societies 



APPENDIX. 351 

in his own and foreign countries. As a preacher, he was impres- 
sive and eloquent ; and the excellence of his sermons was enhanced 
by the energy of his delivery, and by the unction which pervaded 
them. His catholic spirit embraced good men of every nation, 
sect, and party. In the cause of civil and religious liberty he was 
enthusiastic. — Elton's Notes to the Memoir of Callender. 



Note 3.— Page 200. 

The author of the Ode to the Poppy, is one of those whom Mise- 
ry has long since marked for her own, and exercised with the 
severest forms of physical suffering. Afflicted with a chronic 
disease, in the seat of thought itself, for which there is no remedy, 
and which must fatally terminate, through slow and protracted 
degrees of pain and distress : never losing her consciousness of 
present evil, in the balm of sleep, the author has yet been able briefly 
to forget her condition, and to find momentary consolation, in dic- 
tating to her friends, several poetical effusions ; from which the 
present has been selected as one of the most finished. Though 
secluded from the face of Nature, the memory of its various and 
beautiful forms is quickened, in her solitude, by a poet's imagina- 
tion. There is a pathos in some of her pieces, a strength of soul 
struggling against the doom of its decaying tenement, in the agony 
of deferred and expiring hope, that excite in us, as we lay them 
down, a feeling of melancholy regret, that another mind is destined 
to pass away, and leave so imperfect a record of its origin : — a regret 
that is but partially alleviated by the conviction, however sincere, 
that, as well in the universe of mind, as of matter, through all 
their endless changes, nothing is lost ; and that all is safe in the 
hands of its Maker. 

The subject of this brief notice is unimproved by education, and 
owes nothing to circumstances : thus adding another to the thou- 
sand proofs, that Genius in its different degrees and kinds, is a gift, 
native in the soul, irrepressible in its growth by the greatest weight 
of calamity ; and flourishing even in the cold shadow of Death. 

The author's story disarms criticism, and makes its way at once 
to the charity of the heart. — Literary Journal. 



352 APPENDIX. 

Note 4.— Page 296. 

The Poem from which these Stanzas are extracted, was written 
in Savannah, in 1837, as a description of an entertainment at the 
hospitable mansion of a gentleman of that city. This fact is men- 
tioned, as nearly the whole Poem, with additions, was published 
last winter, in a New-York periodical, as a description of a similar 
entertainment in that city. 



Note 5.— Page 321. 

In 1836, a book was published in Philadelphia, entitled "Bio. 
graphical Notes of Commodore Jesse D. Elliot," claiming for that 
officer the honor of gaining the victory on Lake Erie. 




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